


Suddener Than We Fancy It

by Schmuzz



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Only a little angst though promise, Photography, and explicit sex scenes, but with two dudes, this is basically a Hallmark Christmas movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmuzz/pseuds/Schmuzz
Summary: Michael Jones does the least sensible thing possible and goes on a vacation he booked for himself and his girlfriend… who broke up with him just before Christmas. In his mind, anything is better than spending the holidays alone in his apartment, and the mountain lodge is picturesque, serene, and full of people. Including a photographer named Ryan, who is more than willing to keep Michael company for the week.





	1. Sunday, December 18th

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! I'm really excited to bring you all this story - I think it'll be a fun read, and should make up for the fact that I decided not to do an advent calendar like I did in years past. This story should have a regular update schedule - every Tuesday and Saturday with the occasional exception. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also - originally the OFC was gonna be Lindsay but. She's just Too Good for that, plus this way she's able to crop up later in the story. God, I love Lindsay.

 

_The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was  
_ _Spawning snow and pink roses against it  
_ _Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:  
_ _World is suddener than we fancy it._  

_World is crazier and more of it than we think,  
_ _Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion  
_ _A tangerine and spit the pips and feel  
_ _The drunkenness of things being various._  

_And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world  
_ _Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes—  
_ _On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands—  
_ _There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses._  

\- Snow, by Louis MacNeice, 1967

 

-

 

Not for the first time in his life, Michael was dreading a particular phone call. 

Usually such feelings were reserved for ordering internet or figuring out an insurance mishap, but today his teeth were set on edge waiting for Nicole’s number to flash up on his mobile.

She was picking up her things today. She had said she didn’t mind if Michael was there or not, but he didn’t want to stick around, didn’t think he could look his (now ex) girlfriend in the face while she walked around with a box and handpicked all the items that had mixed with his own over the year and a half they had dated, plucking them out of their once shared apartment. So instead he was at a Starbucks downtown, mindlessly playing on his laptop and drinking too many dark roasts, waiting anxiously until she called and told him it was finally over, he could come home and she would be gone _._

If there was one thing that could be said about it all – besides that it sucked and it _sucked_ and Michael was stuck with an uncomfortable ache in his chest and God this was _awful_ – the breakup was over within the span of five minutes. Michael had been too blindsided to do the begging and pleading, he hadn’t even known the ‘old friend’ that was in town had actually been Nicole’s boyfriend from college. She maintained they didn’t do anything while she was with Michael; she wasn’t a cheater, and he could at least believe that. But all the same, she didn’t think it was fair for either of them that she was having second thoughts. That she didn’t know what she really wanted.

But it wasn’t a break, it wasn’t even an awkward patch. Nicole was taking her stuff and leaving, and Michael didn’t know when – or if – he could see her again.

He was trying not to be bitter. His friends and his family weren’t helping, but he was _really_ trying. Nicole had been a lot like him, hard to control, even harder to keep rooted, head in the clouds in some ways, feet firmly on the ground in others. They had worked in so many ways, but not all of them, as it turned out.

In his fifth time checking his email, he saw a new message from Geoff. It was blessedly _not_ about Nicole or how awful he must have been feeling, but instead asking for confirmation over what time the pair of them would be arriving at the mountain lodge on the 19 th.

Mountain lodge.

He had completely forgotten about the vacation they booked up in the Catskills. He had gone up with Geoff right when he had bought the place last year and had been blown away. Nicole’s parents happened to live in New Jersey’s like his own, and they were going to go up to the lodge to spend Christmas together, then some time with both sets of parents before coming home, and it would have been great, probably. One of the best Christmases ever.

Michael sighed, clicking the ‘reply’ tab and puzzling out how to explain that he and Nicole had broken up and he could just rent out the room to someone else and sorry for the confusion when his phone buzzed.

It was Lindsay.

He breathed a sigh of relief and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey,”

“You know the offer to come after that bitch is still on the table,” Lindsay began conversationally. “They’ll never know it was me, I punch like a thirty year old boxer.”

That made Michael crack a smile. Good old Lindsay. “Nah, I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay.”

“Well maybe I’d be okay if everyone stopped letting me know how not okay I was every fifteen minutes.”

“Michael, you had that talk like, a week ago, and the only time you heard from her was today when she went to pick her stuff up.”

“Listen, if you think I haven’t spent the last several nights drinking myself to sleep and watching the Hallmark channel you’re wrong, but that means I’m healing – wait, how did you know she moved her stuff out?”

“Because I drove by to see if you were home like ten minutes ago and I saw her in the driveway, her car looked packed up.”

Michael reached for a nearby coffee cup, internally cursing when he found it was empty. He tapped his fingers on the table instead. “She was supposed to call me when she was done,” he mumbled. “You know, to make it official.”

“I don’t get her – any time I break up with someone I got extremely petty and draw it out just for fun. She’s like a goddamn spy or something.”

“Maybe she is a goddamn spy or something. She’s getting called onto her next mission.” He heard Lindsay chuckle on the other end; at least he still had some ability to be funny.

“…You know you’re better than her,” Lindsay carried on, in a quieter tone. “I – you’re my best friend Michael, and I can promise you, once you get through this, you’ll be happy you two didn’t get married or something.”

Lindsay wasn’t one to be overly serious – neither was he – but she was trying, and it was touching, probably would be moreso if he still wasn’t in the midst of deep self-loathing. “Thanks, Lindsay.”

“So what are you doing now? Going back to the apartment?” Michael frowned. That was the only place he _could_ go; Lindsay and Gavin had offered to take him out drinking, but that would have required far more sociability than drowning his sorrows strictly required, or his barely-holding-it-together self could manage. But he didn’t really want to go home, either. Didn’t want to see the empty places Nicole had left behind: off the top of his head he remembered a few paintings; a commissioned _Legend of Zelda_ poster she had done when she was in school; her pillows; some throw blankets; a basketful of girly soap that Michael would steal sometimes; her toothbrush; makeup; the throw rug in the foyer. His apartment would be severely downgraded back into a shitty bachelor pad.

Worst of all, he had taken off the week leading up to Christmas to go to the lodge, which meant he’d have to show up bright and early at work tomorrow and try to explain why he wasn’t off canoodling with his girlfriend. His buddies at work didn’t know about the breakup, weren’t that observant in the first place, but they’d definitely ask why he was there with them and not on vacation. If he thought the last week was bad, he imagined the coming one was going to be worse. Unless…

“Actually,” he started, tapping the trackpad to wake his laptop up. He scanned Geoff’s email again. “I’m going on vacation.”

“Vacation? You mean… Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Listen, I have my plane ticket booked for tomorrow morning, and it’ll be too late to get back any money if I cancel the trip. It’s either this or going to work on Monday. If I’m going to spend Christmas alone, I’d rather do it somewhere besides my shitty apartment.”

“You know you can hang out with me,” Lindsay suggested.

“And mope around at your parent’s house? Even you’ll get tired of me after a while.”

“I would not! Gavin would, though.”

“He would, that prick.” Michael started to type out his response to Geoff’s email. “I just… need to get away for a while, I think. Go somewhere she’s never been before, have a grand old time, drink spiced cider and hang out with Geoff and try not to get eaten by wendigos or something.”

“Well…” Lindsay sighed. “If that’s what you wanna do, I can’t stop you.”

“Damn straight.”

“But at least text me so I know you’re not dead, okay?”

“Yeah, I promise.” He clicked ‘send’ and sat back. “Lindsay? Thanks. Really.”

“What can I say? It’s the season of giving. And anyway, maybe you’ll get a Christmas miracle and find a girlfriend who isn’t, you know, an asshole.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, shutting his laptop and getting ready to go home and pack for his trip. “Maybe.”


	2. Monday, December 19th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, Saturday night kind of got away from me (read: drunken college shenanigans) - chapter 3 will be up on Tuesday!

The only way to get from the Austin airport into the much smaller Stewart airport in New York was to take a connecting flight, one which culminated in six hours spent either in the air or in a terminal. Needless to say that didn’t do a whole _lot_ for Michael’s mood, but at least he managed to arrive in one piece, luggage and sanity intact.

Unfortunately, the cab ride out to the lodge was less fun, and he was starving by the time he got dropped off. The biting cold of late December seeped in through his old winter coat, which hadn’t been worn since the last time he was in New York to see Geoff’s ‘home away from home’ in the first place.

Michael had first met Geoff when the older man bought a house in Austin that had way more problems than the inspector let on. He had been on call with the electrician company Michael worked at for almost six months, and just about every time there was an issue, Michael was the guy they sent over. It didn’t take long for the pair of them to strike up a friendship, and once Geoff’s house from hell had gotten sorted, the pair of them were still just as happy to hang around, get a drink, or whatever. It had been bittersweet when Geoff sold that house, moved into a condo, and subsequently bought the lodge in New York. He had gotten a deal on it, apparently. The whole setup was a large mountain cabin that could fit a dozen or so people inside, complete with a backup generator. Geoff and his wife, Griffon, lived in their own cabin right next door, smaller but no less cozy. They had also made an annex that acted as Griffon’s personal wood carving studio, and apparently she made a decent supplement on their income just from that.

She and Geoff would close down when the tourists dropped off, either coming back to Austin or just travelling around. As long as they were together, they claimed, they could go anywhere they wanted.

Michael could feel a sour edge that nestled alongside the hunger pangs he felt as he thought about the pair of them. Pushing it down, he carefully eased up the snow-dusted steps and knocked on the door.

It swung wide, after a moment. “Michael!” Geoff still looked like Geoff – though he had lost that handlebar mustache and was now sporting a large beard. He waved Michael into the main room of the cabin, which had been outfitted in a variety of singular, mismatched couches and loveseats. There was a set of large antlers over the lit fireplace, luckily without a stuffed head attached. There was also a decorated tree, a few stockings and garlands for the season – it all looked really nice, even if Michael’s ‘Christmas Spirit’ probably died off after he was, say, thirteen.

“Happy holidays, glad you made it up here,” Geoff said amicably, throwing an arm across Michael’s shoulders and leading him inside. He also shoved a gift basket into Michael’s hands. “Normally I’d put this in the room, but we’re friends.”

“So that means you think you can slack off when it comes to hosting me? Nice.”

“Hey, consider yourself lucky I didn’t decide to drink your bottle of whiskey because we _are_ friends, I definitely thought about it, you know.”

Michael dug through the basket, moving aside the sizeable bottle of Jack Daniels, and plucked out a pack of magnums. “Please tell me you gave these to all the guests, too.”

“That and the packets of KY. Actually, where is your girlfriend? I figured you were _so_ excited to see me you left her to take her bags up the stairs or something, but she can’t be that slow, right?”

Michael swallowed, and the cold that was slowly melting off of him was replaced by the sensation that he had jumped right into the fireplace. He could feel the sweat dripping under his layers of clothes. He hadn’t mentioned Nicole in the email because he was partially afraid that Geoff would do the sensible thing and politely refuse to house him, telling him he needed ‘time to think about the breakup’ or something similarly adult. Now he was looking down at the gift basket full of booze, condoms, and what looked to be a bag of red and green peanut M&Ms and wondered why he didn’t just tell him over email to avoid the whole embarrassing conversation in person.

“She, uh, couldn’t make it.” Geoff squinted at him, and Michael resolutely avoided looking in the same direction as his friend.

“Like… she couldn’t make it because she’s sick, or she couldn’t make it because she was secretly running a drug ring, or she couldn’t make it because you tried to propose and it was awkward and now you’re taking a break.”

“It – It didn’t work out.”

“You dumped her.”

Michael made some weird hand motion even he didn’t know the meaning of, clutching the basket like an oversized football. “No, she dumped – yeah.” He looked briefly at Geoff, then into the fire. “Not a break, it’s permanent. She moved out yesterday and everything. She might be with an old boyfriend, I don’t know.”

“…Oh,” Michael looked down at the ground. “Like, right before you two were gonna spend Christmas together? That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, it’s not great.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Is there anything –”

“Look, Geoff,” Michael rubbed at his hair, pushing his beanie off his head and tossing it into the gift basket. “I know you’re trying to help nurse my wounds and stuff but, I came up here because I wanted a change of scenery. It would have been impossible to get a plane ticket to see my parents sooner and I didn’t want to bother Lindsay so I thought, ‘Hey, I might as well be miserable with Geoff in a place less depressing than my apartment back home.’” He took a large breath. “So, if you want to do anything for me, you can like, make me lunch or something. And we can share this.” He picked up the bottle of Jack and shook it meaningfully at Geoff with a raised eyebrow. “Okay?”

Geoff took the bottle. “If it turns out you’re making up this sob story so I have to make lunch for you I’m never letting you up here again.”

Michael smiled. “I promise it’s too fucked for me to make up. Now shoo,” He waved Geoff to the kitchen off of the living room. “I need to go unpack my shit.”

“Alright, fine.” Geoff dug in his back pocket for a second before giving Michael a pair of keys. “The gold one’s for the front door. And your slightly-less-depressing home away from home is the third door on the right. Have fun.”

The second floor had six bedrooms in total, his at the very end of the hall like Geoff said. Michael lugged his suitcase up the stairs and swung open the door to his bedroom.

He hadn’t packed much – it wasn’t like he had anyone to impress with his variety of sophisticated outfits. He kicked off his shoes and hung up a few shirts; stuffing his socks, underwear, and trousers into one of the bureaus. He scattered his other random accessories – and that gift basket – atop the bedside table and the one armchair in the room until it looked like he actually lived there. Satisfied, he slid open the curtains to his window and looked out.

The lodge was built on a relatively flat peak in the mountains. There wasn’t any snow falling yet, but the bare trees had layers of white on them, and the ground below stretched out into seemingly endless slopes with one barely visible winding road that he had used to get to the lodge in the first place. His breath fogged up the frigid glass, but he just wiped it away to continue scanning the surroundings.

It was strange; he had lived in Austin for less than five years, but the sight of so much snow – on a mountain, no less – was so different from his usual scenery that he couldn’t help the rush of child-like excitement that welled up inside of him. The windows opened and closed by a crank mechanism, so he worked it open and breathed in the coldly refreshing air, closing his eyes as he leaned his cheek against the frame.

He could work with this, definitely.

The sound of a car crunching over snow-covered gravel made him open his eyes again. He saw a large, red truck drive closer to the lodge, pulling around the side before its engine cut off. He wondered if that was Griffon; he had wanted to say hi to her, even if that would mean a repeat of the awkward conversation he had with Geoff. He closed the window and went back downstairs.

He found Geoff in the middle of making sandwiches – thank God. “Hey Geoff, I saw a red truck pull up just now, was that Griffon?”

“Nah, that’s Ryan, another guest.” He handed Michael a beer and the plate of food.

Michael pouted. “You said we could split the whiskey.”

“Drink your beer first, kid.”

“You’d be the worst parent ever.” Just then the front door opened and shut again. Geoff stuck his head out of the kitchen, starting a conversation with ‘Ryan’, presumably. Michael had started to forget how hungry he was until he tucked into the sandwich, and at that point he was too busy trying to regain the feeling of a full stomach to properly concentrate on eavesdropping.

Geoff turned back to Michael a minute later. “Hey, I know I didn’t give you the grand tour yet, but you’ve been up here so you know how it goes – don’t be an asshole, don’t scare the other visitors, you’re welcome to make your own food so long as it doesn’t have another guest’s name on the label, and give me a list of anything you’ll need so I can go out tomorrow, because I’m not about to make that trek out on Christmas Eve, got it?” Michael, who still had a mouth full of the best ham sandwich he’d ever eaten in his entire life, just managed to salute Geoff. “Alright cool, I gotta go back to my cabin and fix the printer or add toner or whatever. I’ll see you at dinner, which is gonna be like, six.” He waved goodbye and trudged out of the kitchen. Michael finished his sandwich, feeling more like a human being than he had in the last twenty-four hours, and quickly washed up, grabbing what remained of his beer and heading out to the lounge.

There was another man sitting on the large couch, looking particularly concerned with whatever was on his laptop screen. They met each other’s eyes, and Michael gave him a cursory nod in greeting before taking up one of the loveseats for himself.

The other guy – who may have been Ryan or someone else entirely – looked older than he did, but still younger than Geoff. Despite the way he was hunched over his computer, he was clearly tall and had some muscle, if the way his arms looked in a sweater was any indication. He had a strong jaw, and hair that was a perplexing mix of ‘blond-ish’ and ‘brown-ish’ that he had swooped across his forehead in a gentle curve. His skin was still flushed from the outside.

He could admit the stranger was handsome. Not at a Hollywood level stunning or anything, but he certainly looked like someone who could call ‘modelling in independent fashion magazines’ a side hobby. _He_ probably didn’t have trouble keeping a girlfriend interested after an old ex showed up, he thought, taking a sip of his beer to wash out the resentment that was starting to climb up his throat once more. He didn’t realize he was staring until the other man looked up and they made eye contact again.

Trying to think of an excuse as to why he had been looking his way, his eyes drifted briefly before realizing that there was a large, expensive-looking camera on the coffee table right in front of the stranger.

“Photographer?” he asked, nodding to the thing.

The stranger smiled. “I guess it’s kind of obvious when I have this huge camera right in front of me, huh?”

“Wait, I was right? Like, you’re a real photographer?” An eyebrow was raised and the smile grew slightly wider.

“As opposed to what?”

“I don’t know, someone who has a day job and calls themselves a photographer to look interesting on social media?”

“Ah yes, the ‘I have an iPhone and an Instagram account’ photographer.” The other man chuckled. “No, I’m the real deal, I guess. I have the business cards and lack of money to prove that I pursued a career in the arts. I just came back,” He waved his hand to the front door. “But then the light started to suck so I had to head back here.”

“That’s what happens in winter.”

“Unfortunately,” The other man clicked a few things on his laptop before shutting it, putting it off to the side. “So, what do you do?”

“Nothing nearly as interesting. Electrician.”

“I don’t know, I think working with electricity is pretty cool.” Michael rolled his eyes, despite himself.

“Yeah, making sure socket covers are properly affixed to the wall is just amazing.”

“ _Well_ ,” the other said, though it didn’t sound like a precursor to a sentence, just an admittance of an impasse. “I’m Ryan,” he continued.

“Michael.”

“Nice to meet you. So, are you here on vacation?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“It’s… hard to explain. Plans changed, but I still wanted to come up here. Geoff is an old friend of mine and I thought it’d be good to get away.”

“So a morbid vacation, I guess. I hope you manage to have fun anyway.” He scratched at his beard, which had the potential to rival Geoff’s current lumber jack look if he let it grow out. It also made Michael loathe his permanent baby face. Just a little bit. “Are you here with anyone?”

Michael tried not to shrink away from the other’s stare. “Me? No. You?”

“Nope. This is kind of work, for me. I’m almost done with this photography series – sorry, you probably don’t want to hear me go on about pictures of snow and stuff.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Michael took a sip of his beer and put his fist under his chin. “But tell me anyway.”

He had just given the other man permission to prattle on about something he was clearly interested in, so Ryan only hesitated for a moment before he started talking. “Well – it’s like a retrospective on the wilderness of the American northeast. Pretty much as soon as art movements began in this country and artists drew away from European influence, they started painting from real life instead of just glorified historical or religious moments. And a lot of popular movements – the Hudson River School, for example – they, uh, wanted to paint the wilderness around them. The Appalachians, the White Mountains…”

“The Catskills?” Michael supplied.

“Yeah! Yeah, all of these regions that were on the cusp of being settled. It was a completely romanticized movement… But then there were other artists who would follow in their footsteps, and even in the mid twentieth century when there were all these, you know, crazy art movements happening, some people were still paintings these mountains, they were still perfectly happy doing landscapes, ones that had been done a hundred years before or four hundred years before if you want to count the Dutch who were the original landscape artists so I –” He stopped, abruptly, and tried to smile. “Sorry, I know you said I could but I’m just talking your ear off.”

“No, no, you were really hitting a stride there, finish it for me – I imagine you’ll have to explain what you’re doing to a lot of other people down the line so you might as well get some practice in.” Ryan’s smile melted into a more natural looking one.

“…Well, yeah. Landscape paintings have always been done. And in American history, there’s been a lot of paintings of the mountains in the Northeast. So, my series is a lot of pictures that try to find the locations of some of those older paintings and I juxtapose them side by side, and it’s kind of weird how some of them, most of them, really, haven’t changed as much as you would think. It’s a nice reminder that there’s, you know, a deep, dark wood still out there, that no matter how advanced technology gets,” He pointed to his camera, “You can still get lost. If you wanted.”

“Or eaten by a bear,” Michael added, thumbnail idly picking off the wet label of his now empty beer bottle.

“I don’t know many people that would want _that._ ”

“ _Well_ ,” Michael said, repeating Ryan’s strange inflection from a few minutes ago. “I have to say, I’m not really an art guy, but everything you were saying? I totally bought it. I mean, I get it. That’s pretty cool, actually.”

“Thank you. It was, well a museum of American Art down in Alabama commissioned me – they have a decent amount of Hudson River School pieces and other landscapes from more contemporary artists, and they wanted a modern exhibit to commemorate it. Then there’s proposals for other museums around the country that might be interested in the collection. I’m almost done, actually, most of the paintings were set in the spring and summer, so I’ve been waiting for it to start snowing to get the last few I need.”

“Sounds like you’ll have a busy holiday then.”

“I don’t mind – I actually wanted to come during Christmas because I figured I would be one of the only ones up here. I mean, you’d think most people Would want to stay home with their families, not in a mountain lodge or something.”

“And yet you ran into me.”

“I guess so,” Ryan crossed his leg over his knee and sank back into the couch cushions, levelling Michael with a stare that, in his not-completely-trustworthy brain, could be described as ‘heated’. “But I think I can make an exception for you.”

Michael ducked his head and started to seriously chip away at the beer label, now. Ryan may have just flirted with him, which was – well, no one really _flirted_ like that, with him. Or maybe it was just because guys never approached him – a few women had, but their styles tended to be less obvious. It kind of felt like he had just had a spotlight put on him, and he didn’t know how to feel about it, so he elected to ignore it.

And anyway, no matter how model-esque and artsy and adorably passionate Ryan was, he had been single for like, barely a week. He came up to the lodge to get away from other people, from relationships, for a while. Not to distract himself with some stranger he’d never see again. He glanced back up at Ryan, found that the other man was fiddling with his camera, and figured that Ryan had just assumed he wasn’t interested. If he had even read that look correctly in the first place. Good. Great. He rose to his feet, gesturing clumsily behind him. “I gotta throw this out – you want anything?”

Ryan blinked. “Um, there might be a Diet Coke in the fridge, if you don’t mind grabbing it for me?”

“Well, I mean, I offered,” Michael responded, catching his breath as he put more distance between them. He rinsed the bottle and tossed it into recycling; the torn up bits of the label still clenched in his fist went into the trash. He got the soda and deposited it on the coffee table in front of Ryan before walking towards the stairs. “I’ll see you at dinner, I guess.”

“Oh, um, I might not make it. I tend to edit all my photos in the evening, so I stay pretty cooped up… But I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. Yeah. Have a good night, Ryan.”

“You too, Michael.”

Michael went up the stairs and shut his door with a relieved sigh. Yep, he had definitely decimated any interest Ryan had in him. Now he wouldn’t have any distractions while he… rediscovered himself. And mourned over lost love. Great plan, really. He looked out the window on his way to the bed, and realized a small amount of snow was falling outside, visible thanks to the outdoor lights around his window. He laid down on his bed, curling up on his side to watch it.


	3. Tuesday, December 20th

Geoff had always known his way around a kitchen, but the fact that he was now responsible for feeding several people three times a day made his skills rapidly inflate. That was the upside to staying at the lodge – the downside was that, besides Ryan, the place was absolutely crawling with couples.

Geoff and Griffon, obviously, and one of Geoff’s old bosses, a guy named Burnie who had brought his girlfriend Ashley along. Apparently they were fans of doing impulsive shit, like skiing through the Appalachians during December before making their final destination at Geoff’s cabin. There was also a younger couple named Barbara and Aaron – she was from Canada, Aaron was from the United States, apparently meeting in New York was a decent compromise. The third couple was another friend of Geoff’s, Jack and his wife, Caiti, who unlike Barbara was from Australia and tended to stay holed up in the lounge while Jack and Geoff wandered around outside.

They were all perfectly friendly, of course. Smiling, laughing, having quiet conversations on the couches downstairs or on the snow-covered deck outside. They would wave to him when they passed, Burnie and Jack traded stories about how they had all known Geoff back in the day and the things they got up to before he and Griffon bought the lodge. Unsurprisingly that was a treasure trove of entertainment. More than once they asked Michael to take pictures of them, shots that would no doubt be plastered on Facebook and used as Christmas cards next year. Of the three lodging couples, only Barbara and Aaron weren’t engaged or married.

Michael knew being alone around the holidays wasn’t going to be easy, but he wasn’t expecting how sappy and romantic couples around Christmas got. Had he been like this last year? It was hard to imagine it now, the disjointed, emotionless memories of him in a relationship stuck around much longer than the wistful, rose-colored glasses that dating someone provided him. Having your ex move out and cut contact in the same day kind of did that to a person.

The point was, it was only Tuesday and he couldn’t handle lounging around the cabin amoung all the happy couples without turning to copious amounts of alcohol to soothe him.

He was morosely contemplating splashing some vodka in the glass of orange juice he was drinking when he saw Ryan for the second time. He came down the stairs bundled up in a thick, black coat, a wool beanie, scarf, and impressively large snow boots. “Morning,” Michael said, drinking the rest of his zero proof juice. “Are you going out to take more pictures?”

Ryan looked over at him and stopped his purposeful stride to the front door. “Yeah,” he said. “Wanna come?” He said it so casually that Michael thought his politeness had accidentally seeped into an invitation that he didn’t mean to give out. Michael started at him, waiting for him to backpedal, but instead Ryan just tilted his head slightly, like a befuddled puppy, and Michael was saying “Give me five minutes,” before he even realized what he was doing.

True to his word they were out the door, Michael about as bundled up as Ryan but stuck with some old hiking boots instead of properly tall snow boots, five minutes later.

It was about eleven in the morning, sun already warming the air and causing the snow to intensely reflect the light back at them. Ryan pulled out a pair of sunglasses and pushed them up his nose, Michael contented himself with squinting and stepping in the imprints Ryan’s boots left in the snow. “So, where are we going?”

“Uh, I found this old hunter’s cabin on one of Geoff’s super detailed maps. It’s a forty minute walk from here, maybe longer depending on the snow and how lost I get us.” He stopped talking, and probably made some sort of apologetic expression even though Michael couldn’t see him. “Maybe not the easy, scenic walk you were hoping for?”

“Please, I was suffocating in there. Too much love and commitment.”

“You’re like, twenty, don’t sound so cynical.”

“I’m twenty- _nine_ , you asshole.”

“Really? You don’t look a day over seventeen.”

Michael’s mouth ran before he could stop it. “Says the man who tried to flirt with someone who looks like a teenager, I think it says more about you than me.”

Ryan didn’t say anything for a minute after, snow making tight, crunching noises the only sound around them. No birds, no nearby animals or people. It wasn’t the smartest thing he had ever done, making the only other single person on the mountain awkwardly silent around him.

“I – I didn’t mean,” Michael started.

“No, sorry, I – it was my fault. I’ve been working in so many art towns that I forget that every single guy might not be into men. Wait that’s – well that’s kind of a shitty excuse. I just – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, last night. If I did I’m sorry.”

“What? No, that? I mean – I’m not,” Michael huffed. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he mumbled. “Now is just… I’m figuring some stuff out right now.”

“Bad breakup?”

Michael smiled ruefully. “Did my pessimistic attitude and vague statements as to why I’m here alone tip you off?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps I have a Sherlock Holmes level of deduction power,” Ryan said blithely. “The way you let some of your hair stick out of your hat clearly implies a lack of a significant other.”

“Maybe,” Michael said, eyes rising to the almost suspicious gap in the trees. “Then again, you literally walked past what looks like an old driveway. You might want to check your map.” Ryan backed up and tugged out the large, yellowed map from his jacket pocket, unravelling it and holding it out for them both to see. “Yeah,” Michael continued. “This looks like it was used as a wide path for a while, and its right after we passed that collection of rocks,” He pointed on the map.

“Well, I’m glad I brought you along,” Ryan said, stuffing the map back into his coat and forging ahead.

“How’d you go through all the other mountains without help?” Michael said, grinning. It was probably a miracle that he noticed the trees at all; his sense of direction was notoriously bad, which was another reason why he was content to trail in Ryan’s footprints, as well as an attempt to preserve his boots against the ankle-deep snow.

“I actually talked some park rangers into helping me,” Ryan said over his shoulder, cheeks pink again. “And it’s all a bit easier to tell apart when the world isn’t covered in snow.”

“Hm,” They walked along in a more comfortable silence, now, Michael on the lookout for any cabin in the woods. “Do you really think I look like a kid?” he asked after five minutes.

“No, I was just being facetious.”

“Facetious? More like pretentious, fuckin’ – Ryan the dictionary guy.” Ryan, to Michael’s maybe misplaced delight, giggled.

“You definitely look like you can get into a bar or rent a car from the airport or, uh, vote.”

“Vote?”

“I’m trying _not_ to be creepy, here!”

“You already dragged me out to an old, abandoned log cabin in the middle of goddamn nowhere during a time of year where I would quickly die after being exposed to the elements.” He eyed Ryan’s camera bag. “Did you even _bring_ your camera out here or is that case stuffed with knives?”

“Oh please, who do you take me for?” Ryan asked, stepping over a fallen log. “If I wanted you gone I would have taken you over the southern ridge and pushed you down into the Kaaterskill Falls. You’d have slipped under the ice and by the time they found your body, I’d have already become a citizen of Holland living under an assumed name.”

“… _Jesus,_ Ryan.”

“Too much?”

“What do you think, you weirdo? Is this how you flirt with gay guys in art villages? Somehow I can’t imagine every dude in Greenwich falling on your dick for that.” Ryan doubled over and sputtered.

“…Point taken,” he said eventually, once he was able to say words again and Michael stopped antagonizing him for his constant flubs and false starts. By then they were both out of breath from trying to speak, failing, and then laughing too hard.

Michael managed to grin triumphantly without breaking into a fit of laughter again. “That’s what I thought. Now keep walking, we’re burning daylight.”

A few minutes later they found a small, mostly frozen stream that ran parallel to the cabin, according to Ryan’s map. They wandered close to it, Michael barely resisting the urge to ask if this section of water was a good place to dump his body. Personally, he had never been one for the macabre – though his mom’s consistent obsession with cold cases and crime shows had definitely bled into his own interests, so maybe he just needed a special someone to make him actually talk about that sort of thing out loud.

He wondered if Ryan played video games, too.

They hit the cabin about five minutes later. It stood, gray and uninviting against the skeletal trees that dwarfed it. “Huh,” Ryan said, fiddling with his camera bag.

“Promise not to string me up and leave me for dead once we go in there?”

"I promise, though the painting never went inside the cottage, just an exterior shot. So you’re safe...”

“ _For now_.” Michael and Ryan said at exactly the same time. They were both probably wearing the same idiotic smile, too. “So was this cabin around in like, the 1800s?” Michael wandered along the perimeter, trying not to get too close to the building while Ryan set up his shot – the image of fresh footprints might ruin the ‘untapped wilderness’ potential of the photo.

“Hah, no, this one’s by a guy named Robert Wood. Uh, 1960 I think?”

“So a guy who’s name was a synonym for dick.”

“Astute observation there,” Ryan crept around the edge of the cabin, camera in front of his face and occasional clicks being made as he took his pictures.

"Yep," Michael kicked at the snow with his shoe until the toe of his boot hit something solid. He dug past the slush and pulled out a small rock, immediately flinging it into the stream and hearing it crash through the thin ice, dropping into the water with a hollow sounding _‘plop!’_ “Oops,” he said.

“Hey, hey, behave back there.”

“Make me,” Michael said, searching around for more rocks. “So, what’re your plans after this?”

“Go back to the lodge and hole up in my room with my laptop and some editing software,” Ryan answered in a monotone voice.

“No, no, I mean, _after_ , when you leave – when are you leaving?”

“The 26th.”

“Oh shit, don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Christmas is on a Sunday, there’s no point in me sticking around for longer than that.”

“Uh, saving on airfare?”

“Nah, the museum’s covering travel fees.”

“Okay… fiscal responsibility when using money from an established institution that educates the public?”

“Nah,” Michael leaned up against a tree, watching Ryan move around the scenery as he took photos, checked them, and kept wandering. They were still at a decent distance from the cabin. Michael imagined the painting was probably more about the surrounding forest than the dinky little place someone lived. “What about you?”

“The 27th.”

“That’s literally a day later! What does it matter?”

“About 150 dollars in airline costs, that’s what.”

“You almost make up the difference by staying an extra night here, though.”

Fucker had a point. “Geoff gave me the friends and family discount.”

“Wha – really? I knew Griffon back when I was in college and she didn’t give _me_ any offers,” he grumbled.

“Kidding, I think it was on the table but I was like, ‘no Geoff I want to fully support you and your wife, take all my money.’” He frowned. “You went to college with Griffon?”

“Not exactly, she was just, around. We ran in similar circles.”

“Artsy circles?”

“I may have wanted to get a theater degree when I first went to school,” Ryan admitted sheepishly.

“Which is so much worse than a degree in visual arts or whatever?”

“I mean… if you’re a shitty photographer, you do weddings. If you’re a shitty thespian you’re homeless.”

“You could also be a homeless wedding photographer. I didn’t know you were so judgey.”

“I’m just self-critical,” Ryan defended. He flicked through the pictures on his camera. “Oh, this one’s decent,” he muttered under his breath. “Here, want to see the comparison?” Michael straightened and walked towards Ryan, who had dug his phone out of his pocket with one hand and was flipping through photos that he had saved from the internet. He held up one next to the small display on the camera.

One was a painting with navy colored water and black, bald trees, a cabin made of gray wood placed in the background, a small hint of society in the midst of the winter. The photo was more clear, more detailed, and the coloring was less dramatic, but the setting itself was spot on, and it looked like a picture the artist might have taken to save later on as the painting’s reference. Michael said that, and Ryan smiled, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He started to pack up his camera, and Michael hovered near in case the other man needed him to hold something.

“I think we can go back now. Don’t know what I’ll do with the rest of the day.”

“Get back in time for lunch and then… don’t suppose you’d want to watch me play Pokémon do you?”

“Well I was actually born before 1985, so I’m not exactly a fan. I’m more into PC games, honestly,” Ryan supplied, slinging his camera bag around his shoulders and turning back the way they came.

“No shit, do you only play indie games on Steam? To fit in with your artsy personality.”

“Fuck off, I’m capable of playing Halo and GTA like everyone else.”

“Fine, fine,” Michael said, following the other man at a more leisurely pace, now that the multiple sets of footprints were starting to make a path for him to follow. Keeping his feet as dry and warm as possible was a fair price to pay for having to literally trail behind the other man, he supposed, though he was now regretting not having any decent winter gear with him.


	4. Wednesday, December 21st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School continues to kick me while I'm down, so.

“So, you get a million dollars,” Michael began, spreading his arms out to better balance himself as they walked along the ridge – the drop was only a few feet down, but he’d rather not fall ass first into the snow. “But you can only use those shitty old cameras from the 1800s.”

Ryan was in front of him, like usual. He was stopping every few paces, trying to get a picture of the falls in front of them. “Oh, that could be interesting, though. Like, a gimmick.”

The ridge they were on provided better angles than the banks below, and they could walk around the perimeter without the risk that walking over the frozen pond brought. “In a world where everyone can call themselves a photographer, someone who needs to take a forty minute exposure would be pretty cool.”

“You could say goodbye to high definition shots, or moving objects. Or people, in general.”

“Yeah, the eyes always came out blurry because they had to blink. That’s how you spot the dead person in old photographs, you know, you look for the person who has clear eyes.”

“Why do you know so much about creepy murder stuff?”

Ryan shrugged. “Why do you know so much about Legend of Zelda? We all have our interests outside of work.”

“That is not nearly the same thing.

Ryan slowly sank to into a squatting position, angling his camera up at the mountain where the falls streamed from. They were looking at it dead-on, now. “Says you,” he countered, clicking the shutter button rapidly.

The waterfall that they were looking at were stunning, the water a cerulean blue from a mix of cold temperatures and light reflecting from the weak sun and the snow. The water still rushed down, forming a white foam at the bottom, but beyond that ice had started to form, uneven as it took the shape of constantly moving water. Michael cupped his hands around his nose and mouth, breathing out to warm his face. It was getting colder, and the number of clouds in the sky today suggested more snow would be falling soon.

“How’s it going down there?”

Ryan frowned, squinting into the viewfinder and glaring at the live feed screen a few times each. “I’m trying to adjust the white balance – the falls look fine but the clouds are all messed up.” He fiddled with the buttons on the camera as he spoke, chewing on his lip. He tested another photo, frowned, and started hitting buttons again.

“That’s too bad,” Michael said, putting his hands back in his coat pockets. Ryan, impatient with standing still, had started to sway slightly, his feet stepping here and there, flattening and scraping away at the snow he was stood on.

“Mm, maybe…” Another testing shot and more scrutinizing. “Okay, okay I think I got it this time. Now let’s try for real…” He squatted again, taking a dozen or so pictures at a rapid-fire pace. He looked through them, relief washing over his face. “Oh, thank God. I was worried I just wasn’t gonna get it.”

“Come out okay?”

Ryan began to get to his feet. “Yeah, I just want to keep walking around the perimeter in case –” One of his boots lurched forward and Ryan’s body jerked, hands clenched around his camera instead of trying to scrabble for balance.

“Oh, shit!” Ryan was struggling to stop himself from sliding on the ice that had been lurking under the snow. Michael lurched forward as it looked like Ryan was going to tumble forward, over the ridge. He closed the distance between them and yanked hard at the collar of his jacket, knocking him onto his back.

Now he was on his ass and his back was covered in snow, but he was safe. Ryan had closed his eyes when Michael grabbed at him, and now cracked one open to give him a look. “Thanks,” he said. “I have snow down my neck, now.”

“Better that than falling down into the water and breaking your neck.”

“Or my camera,” He turned it this way and that before breathing out a sigh of relief. “You’re the best, Michael.”

“Just because one of us jokes about leaving me for dead out here doesn’t mean I can’t do the right thing.” He put his hands on his hips. “Now do you want help to get up or what?”

“I… kind of just want to lay here for a minute. My life may have flashed before my eyes back there. And again when my skull hit the ground.”

“You mean all that snow didn’t break your fall?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Huh.” Michael looked around them – this area was more craggy and mountainous, so the only trees he saw were off in the distance. He did, however, spot what looked like a snow covered rock a few feet away. He swiped at it until it was relatively cleared off and his hands were pink and numb before sitting down, shivering as the remaining damp made direct contact with his jean-clad ass. “Christ, it’s cold,” he muttered.

“Where’re you from?”

“Born in New Jersey.”

“I’m from Georgia, I don’t get why you’re the one complaining.”

“You’re bigger than me, you have more heat stored up.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Are people from Georgia known to be anything but fat?” Michael laughed as the other’s hand attempted to roll up a snowball and throw it in Michael’s direction. Unfortunately the snow was too puffy and it all disintegrated into a gust of flurries after Ryan threw it.

“Is this your first white Christmas?” Michael asked.

“Uh, actually? Yeah. I’ve been travelling more often so I’m kind of getting used to snow. This must be real common for you, though.”

“It hasn’t snowed on Christmas in a few years,” Mostly due to him living in Texas now, but whatever. A breeze blew across the water, snow that was kicked up from the wind falling right into Michael’s eyelashes and down his jacket collar. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Though you think I’d be smart enough to have brought fucking snow pants or something. How are you okay down there?” Ryan had on a long coat, but he was wearing jeans, too.

The man in question tugged his jacket up and his trousers down, slightly, showing off a white strip of cloth. Michael hated how his eyes grew wide and renewed heat rushed to his cheeks. “Long johns,” Ryan explained, before putting his clothes back in order. “I mean, I’ll be honest, it’s starting to get a little chilly down there, but it works miracles.”

Well. That was probably the least sexy reveal ever. Not that it didn’t make Michael dig the toes of his boots into the snow just to distract himself from looking at Ryan. “I just thought you wanted to flash me,” he found himself saying.

“Out here? No way, that’d be the worst advertisement for my dick.”

“Maybe you’re a shower, anyway,” he offered. Well, too late to take that comment back. He pressed his hands against his face, trying to either warm his fingers or cool his face, whichever came first.

“Hey,” Michael looked over at Ryan, who was looking up at the sky. “Do you just wanna… head back?”

“Thought you needed to get more angles.”

Ryan shrugged, the snow crunching under him. “Yeah, but I’m cold, too. I guess if we both wuss out it’s fine?”

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Right. Now help me up.” Ryan clutched at his camera with one arm and raised his other into the air for Michael to grab.

“Fine. Baby,” Michael planted his feet on the ground as solidly as he could and heaved the other man up. “Damn, you’re heavier than you look,” he panted, once the other was standing properly.

“And you’re stronger than you look, so.” Michael frowned and rotated his shoulder slowly.

“If I pulled something from hauling your ass to safety, you’re giving me a massage.”

Ryan flexed his hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can work all the kinks out of you.” Michael snorted.

“Creep. Okay, let’s go.”

-

Ryan had actually deigned to make an appearance at dinner, sitting across from Michael, who sat next to Geoff at one head of the table. Both Ramseys felt the need to point out how much of a loner Ryan could be, forcing Michael to declare that they had been spending time together and Ryan was actually capable of withstanding human interaction for prolonged periods of time.

It might have been the sensation of being warm and dry and full of spiced cider – though with how Geoff made it, more like plenty of rum with a dash of cider – but when Ryan decided to stick around long after dinner, showing Michael a few photographs from his earlier projects and the stories behind him, he was happier than he had been in the last few weeks.

Happier than he should’ve been.

As nice as they were, his feelings were not doing him any favors. Already there was plenty of mental chastising that he shouldn’t be getting any warm, fuzzy feelings from being next to a near stranger.

Trying to focus on something else that wasn’t Ryan – or his thoughts about Ryan – he became increasingly aware of the ache that had bloomed in his shoulder sometime during the evening. It had started throbbing once they had gotten back to the ledge, and the pain had only worsened as the day went on.

He tried to be subtle about stretching his arm out, and digging his thumb into the knot of muscle, but when Ryan went to the kitchen to get Michael another beer and himself another Diet Coke, he caught Michael trying to twist his arm to rub at the pulled shoulder. Meeting his eyes, Michael blurted out, “It’s your fault.”

“Being a hero is a difficult and unsung labor,” Ryan replied, setting the drinks down. He didn’t sit, instead crossing his arms over his broad chest and looking down at Michael. “I can rub it for you, if you want.”

“Easy there, Ryan, pretty sure that’s how pornos start.”

“Only if you want it to start,” he corrected. “Obviously you can say no, but it looks like it’s in an awkward spot to reach yourself. And you did pull a muscle by saving my dumb ass, so it’s kind of the least you can do.”

“Well if you’re gonna guilt me into it, fine; I give you full permission to give me a massage.” Ryan smiled and promptly stood behind Michael’s spot on the couch. He was already sitting with his legs crossed on the cushion, which drew up his height and made it easier for Ryan to touch him.

He definitely did not move or shift in any way when Ryan put his hands on both shoulders. Did not.

“Which shoulder, right?”

“Yeah,” He felt Ryan’s thumb shift down, pressing against various spots in the meat of his shoulder. “Ow, right there.”

“Hm,” His thumb ground a small circle in Michael’s skin. “Here?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, just making sure. It doesn’t hurt really bad, does it? It just feels like a knot.”

“No, I guess it’s not awful. I just –” He huffed. “Man, I feel old.”

Ryan chuckled, applying pressure on the knot with his thumb before soothing the tension out with the heel of his hand. “Believe me, I know the feeling.” Michael wanted to say something, but his mind kept drawing a pitiful blank, all from having Ryan put his hands on him. Thank God everyone else had gone to their rooms by now. If Geoff saw them, he’d probably just walk off into the frozen tundra and never look back.

He couldn’t think of the last time someone actually rubbed his back to get his muscles to relax. Not superficial touch, but contact with a purpose – utilitarian and blissful at once. He sighed.

“Doing okay?”

“Mhm,”

“I think I found that spot on you that makes you stop talking,” Ryan added impishly.

“Oh, shut the fuck up –” Ryan’s other hand lightly squeezed the back of his neck and he shivered. “Actually, rub that, too.”

The older man laughed, but didn’t pull away. Soon the back of Michael’s neck went pink with the combined heat of Ryan’s hand and his own mortification. He could feel the knot in his shoulder loosen under the pressure, skin tingling from the attention. He resisted leaning into Ryan’s hands; large, capable, definitely making him come face to face with the realization that he may have a slight hand fetish, or at least an embarrassingly hard to ignore crush on the man himself. He had to keep reminding himself to keep his lips sealed, not to make any noise or close his eyes. Ryan was being nice, or something. And even if this was a strange method of seduction, it just… wouldn’t work out. That was the vague assurance Michael kept making to himself.

Some minutes later, Ryan’s hand slowed, and he stopped massaging him and was instead just rubbing, back and forth over his much improved shoulder. The hand on his neck slumped and sank, knuckles gently resting in the middle of Michael’s back. “Is that any better?” he asked quietly.

“God, way better. Thank you so much.” Ryan’s hands drifted away and Michael pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to shake whatever spell had fallen over him, and also to avoid Ryan’s face for a moment. He sensed the other stepping in front of him before the couch cushion next to his own sank with his weight. When he blinked the spots from his eyes and looked over, Ryan was watching the Christmas tree, dots of artificial string lights reflected back in his eyes as he took a sip of his soda. For some reason, some strange, strange reason Michael refused to examine too closely, he giggled at the sight, at the… familiarity of it.

And to think, he came out here because he wanted to get away from the familiar. But here he had gone and made a damn pattern for himself already: sitting next to the strangely sweet photographer from Georgia, watching him drink his weight in diet soda.

Ryan’s eyes flicked over to his. “What?”

He was grinning. “Nothing, just,” He leaned forward and grabbed his beer. “What is it with you and Diet Coke?”

“I like it. What’s with you and beer?”

Michael scoffed. “You say that as if there’s only one type of beer. I’ve had a bunch of different ones since I came here.”

“They all taste the same to me.”

“But they’re not actually the same. I am perfectly capable of drinking a wide variety of many liquids. You on the other hand, I’ve literally only seen you drink that.” Ryan shrugged, helplessly. “What about coffee?”

“Coffee is… okay, I guess. I’ll drink it sometimes.”

“More of a tea guy?”

“Not really.”

“What about hot chocolate? ‘Tis the season.” Ryan wrinkled his nose.

“What are you, four?” 

“Hey, what? Fuck you, hot chocolate is delicious. Right up there with spiced cider.”

“It’s literally just a bunch of freeze dried marshmallows in boiling chocolate water.”

“You know what – this is because you’re from the South. You guys are never freezing your asses off, you have no reason to learn how to make a good cup of hot chocolate.”

“There’s good hot chocolate?” Ryan’s tone of voice was more doubtful and disbelieving than it should have been for discussing something so simple. Michael let out a long sigh and slumped back into the couch.

“Okay Haywood,” he began, pointing his beer bottle in Ryan’s direction. “Before you leave and go back to your fancy museum, we’re gonna go into that kitchen and I will make you the best damn hot chocolate in the state.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m flattered.”

“Good, you should be.”

“I just don’t know if you’ll have like, the jurisdiction to label your hot chocolate as the best.”

Michael drained his beer and shot Ryan a look. “I try to do you a favor and you’re just being a complete dick. Unbelievable. I should have let you fall earlier today.”

“Hey, I’m just saying you can’t be the chef and the judge – you can’t be law and order here!”

“I am the law!” Michael slammed his bottle onto the coffee table with a dull bang! Then he glanced at the clock, blanching at the time. “And I’m going to bed.”

“Aw,”

“Don’t worry, we’ll hang out tomorrow.” He got up from his seat, dumping his bottle into recycling. “And then.” He pointed his finger at Ryan. “You can’t get outta this one, Ryan.”

“Uh, okay…?” Michael nodded, and made for the stairs. “Well, uh, thanks for saving me anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight, Ryan.”

“’Night, Michael.”

When Michael got back to his room, he had a few texts from Lindsay and one from Gavin, asking how he was doing. He dutifully answered them, but his thumbs hovered over the screen when he thought about mentioning Ryan. It wasn’t like there was anything weird with making acquaintances with another vacationer or anything, but for some reason, the comments that they might make about him, joking or not, gave him pause.

In the end, Michael decided to tell them both about a kind of funny photographer that was holed up in the lodge with him, who he happened to save earlier that day, because telling his two friends about him meant that Ryan was no more important and clandestine than what Michael ate for breakfast that morning, obviously.

From Gavin, predictably: “Don’t fuck him.”

And from Lindsay: “Are you gonna fuck him?”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, to no one in particular. This week, for better or worse, was going to be longer than he thought.


	5. Thursday, December 22nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting just into finals week and I am so tired, you guys. I'm pretty sure chapter 6 will be out this Saturday, but if not, it's because I was just studying TOO hard _(:3」∠)_
> 
> Anyway, this fic was meant to be a way to deliver many of those Holiday Tropes... this chapter brings us the quintessential snowball fight.

Another day in the literal winter wonderland Michael was staying in, another few hours spent traipsing around the Catskills making sure Ryan didn’t kill himself or something. It had snowed overnight, meaning that Michael’s shitty, decidedly _not_ water proof boots were soaked almost immediately.

They hadn’t gotten to the site yet, but Ryan had stopped to take pictures of a few birds that were flitting around on some low tree branches. “Are you sure you don’t wanna go back? I don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“I’m not gonna get frostbite,” Michael grunted. So long as they kept moving the chill didn’t set in too bad, and he’d be fine. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad,” Ryan argued. “I mean, the sun is shining, these birds are singing, kind of, and you really get sick of it being ninety degrees all the freaking time.”

“Uh, I am almost positive that’s not true,” Michael argued. Winter was nice for a limited amount of time, but he never got tired of the warm weather – one of the reasons he moved to Austin. Ryan just shook his head before slipping his camera in his bag. They started moving again, Ryan talking over his shoulder.

“Being in the Deep South is just, it’s crazy how hot and humid it can get. I’m actually moving soon. Once I go back home I’m packing up and getting ready to go, but the new place is still gonna be down South, so.”

“It’s like living in soup, huh?” Michael said, remembering the many, _many_ days in Austin where he felt like he was going to melt from the sheer heat.           “What about figuring out your museum exhibits and stuff?”

“Well there are these great inventions known to man such as the telephone, email, and airplanes, so.”

“Fuck you.”

“ _And_ for the fact that I’m not moving until after the first exhibit is over. A lot of it was a contract issue, I had to move in sooner than I wanted to. Hopefully everything doesn’t fuck up and I’ll be there in spring.”

“At least then you can relax, right?” Ryan laughed.

“I doubt it. I’ll probably be running on no sleep by that point, between work and making sure I have a functional house and stuff.”

“Ooh, a _house_ , aren’t we fancy?”

“Shut up, it’s a small house. I need a dark room.”

“God, you’re pretentious. ‘I need a dark room’,” Michael stopped walking and bent down, gathering some snow in his hands and successfully forming a ball. “No one needs that shit anymore with digital cameras – you’re just doing it for _effect_. Do you falsely color black and white images for fun, too?”

“…Um, I _have_ done that,” he muttered. “It’s fun!” he defended.

“Hey Ryan,”

Ryan spun around. “What? Oh.”

Michael lobbed a snowball at Ryan’s chest, watching it burst on impact with a delighted grin. “Yeah, ‘oh’.”

Ryan stood there for a moment, looking unsurprised and unamused. Then he quickly ducked down and began drawing piles of snow towards him, patting them into spheres while Michael ran behind a tree and attempted to form an arsenal of his own.

A snowball hit the trunk just by his head. “Hey! No headshots!”

“This isn’t dodgeball, I can hit wherever I want.” Michael lobbed three snowballs in a row towards Ryan, the first two missing, and the last third hitting his upper thigh. “Really? Are you aiming for my dick, now?”

“It ain’t dodgeball, Haywood.” Michael picked up the rest of the snowballs in his arms and weaved through the trees, catching two hits to his side with a curse before returning fire, hitting a tree Ryan was now using as shelter. “Coward!”

“Yep,” Ryan said, nearly hitting Michael in the face. The snowy powder exploded and froze Michael’s cheeks. Some even travelled into his jacket, making him shiver. Going for broke, Michael abandoned any semblance of strategy and ran towards Ryan, who tried and failed to deter Michael by pelting him with more snowballs.

Finally, Michael was right in front of Ryan, who was kneeling in the snow, scrabbling to get away. “Hey Ryan,” he greeted, dancing around Ryan’s form and grabbing the back of his coat’s collar.

“No, no! Don’t do it!” Ryan wriggled around but couldn’t get any decent leverage and Michael was able to shove a handful of frigid snow right down Ryan’s jacket. He stood back, laughing hard and loud while Ryan screamed and wrestled with himself, trying to angle his back away from the slush and frantically unzipping the front of his jacket, all while trying to not fall into the snow.

Eventually, Ryan got back on his feet. Michael swayed where he stood as he laughed, arms clutching his sides.

“You suck,” Ryan complained, though he didn’t seem on the cusp of retaliation.

Michael wiped a tear from his eye. “Yep,” he agreed happily.

“The absolute worst.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Michael promised, putting a hand on Ryan’s arm.

Ryan shrugged it off. “No, you can’t try to make up with me when there’s still ice water dripping down my back.” He crossed his arms and glared at Michael.

“Aww, come on, I’ll treat you to something real nice.”

Ryan raised his eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Hm, no clue, actually. I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He stood on his tip toes, hands behind his back. “So, we’re cool now, right?”

He felt a large hand push hard on his chest, and suddenly Michael was on his back, looking up at a gray winter sky and Ryan, cackling like a madman, hands wrapped around his own stomach as he doubled over.

“You bastard! You won’t get away with this!” Michael reached up and yanked Ryan’s jacket down, _hard_ , but Ryan was more solid than he was, only getting him off his balance. He stopped fighting it, though, managing to twist his body so he landed on his ass like Michael did, his camera bag safe in front of him.

They laid in the snow, Ryan still chuckling, Michael glaring at the faint white spot he thought the sun had migrated to. “Now we’re even,” Michael said sagely.

“Even? You stuck snow down my back and dragged me down here!”

Michael shrugged, snow moving around him. “And you ruined my trust in you. You _deceived_ me, Ryan. I thought you were my friend.”

“I can still be your friend,” Ryan said. “Your conniving, evil mastermind of a friend.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, okay. Conniving, my ass.” He frowned, hands on his chest. His breath misted out in front of him, and everything seemed quieter down here, the snow acting as a barrier from the already minute sounds that they heard while wandering around. He closed his eyes, mentally checking himself. Not for external injuries – he was cold as shit, obviously – but he realized that he was feeling a strange lack of… anything. It was impossible to sift past his immediate bodily feelings to his deeper ones. There was a lack of urgency, anxiety. He felt relaxed. He felt...

Normal. Like someone who wasn’t made newly single in an agonizing manner. He sighed, then took a deep breath of the cold, dry air, as if he could bottle up the feeling of tranquility and keep it inside him forever.

Though he wasn’t sure that it was the fresh mountain air that was responsible for him feeling so good.

Ryan hadn’t spoken yet. Michael kind of expected a sarcastic jab of some sort, and after a moment he opened his eyes and turned his head, only to realize Ryan’s pensive gaze was on him.

His eyes were so captivating, or maybe that was the man himself. Ryan didn’t have brilliant cerulean eyes that could be compared to ocean waters or gemstones. They were actually a rather faded blue, mixed with a dulling gray. But they were bright, openly staring back at him like they were sending a message neither of them were aware of. Michael’s gaze traced along the other’s snow-riddled hair and the beard that had caught a few flakes of white in the fall; the cold had made his lips pale and flushed his cheeks and the tip of his slightly crooked nose. Michael looked back at his eyes, still unable to come up for a color to call them, wondering if any name out there could ever reflect this moment.

Maybe that’s why they weren’t saying anything. There weren’t any words that could work right now.

Michael swallowed, and clasped his numbing fingers closer together. What would happen if he –

The easily recognizable noise of an airplane sounded overhead. They both instinctually looked up, seeing a large passenger plane, low in the sky. It quickly flew across the sky, in and out of their line of sight in a few seconds.

“Looks like they’re heading to Albany,” Ryan breathed out. Somehow, those weren’t the words Michael was looking for.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. Funny how just the one word could sound so hollow.

 

 -

 

They had managed to get to Ryan’s site after all, though Michael wondered if Ryan was able to hold his hands steady long enough to take a decent picture, the two of them wracked with shutters from their wet clothes. They were quick to return after that, following the footprints back to the lodge. Inside, the toasty temperature seemed almost _too_ hot, making Michael’s ears burn as he yanked off his clothes. He could feel Ryan’s stare on him again as he undressed.  

“I mean, there’s always tomorrow,” Michael offered, even though Ryan hadn’t spoken yet, was still preoccupied with unwinding the scarf from his neck and prying off his boots. Michael suddenly became very interested in unzipping his jacket and peeling off his soaked socks.

“Of course,” Ryan said, excusing himself a minute later, going up the stairs to his room while Michael tried to find a spot close from the roaring fire so his boots might dry for tomorrow’s excursion.

“Hey you,” Geoff said when Michael walked into the kitchen. He needed a shower to shake the rest of the chill, but he figured a quick bite to eat couldn’t hurt, either.

“Sup,” Michael immediately went to one of the cabinets, getting out a glass and filling it with water.

“Not much. I’ve barely seen you, though.”

He turned around, taking a sip. “What are you talking about? I see you all the time.”

“I mean when food isn’t an option. It’s like you’re only using me for meals and shelter.”

Michael smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Are you lonely up here on your isolated as hell snow mountain?”

“Maybe I am. What have you been doing, anyway? You’re never with the other guys.”

“The other couples? No, I mean, I’ve been hanging out with Ryan, like I mentioned last night. He said he knew Griffon back in college?”

Geoff tugged at his beard. “Huh? Oh, yeah, they did.”

Michael pulled out a chair with his foot and sat down. “How come you two know like, everyone?”

Geoff pulled out a few boxes of spaghetti and moved past Michael to fill a large pot with water. “We’re friendly and we drink and we travel a lot, fucking sue us.”

“Ryan doesn’t drink.”

“He doesn’t?”

“Yeah, he gave me the whiskey you put in the complimentary basket. I asked him if he got the condoms too but apparently that was just a special addition for me.” Geoff barked out a laugh, putting the nearly full pot onto a burner. “It’s not funny! He looked at me all weird.”

Geoff found it very funny, of course, still chuckling. “He thinks you want his dick.”

“Actually, I think he might want _my_ dick. Like, a little bit,” Michael mumbled, busying himself with tapping the salt and pepper shakers on the table top.

“Why do you think that?” Michael shrugged. “Do you want him to want that? Is he gonna put it in you?”

“Oh fuck off, we’re just hanging out.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen –”

Geoff leaned against the counter, rubbing his hands with a dishtowel. “Oh, I’m listening. Every word is currently being memorized in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “So what does this hanging out entail?”

“I don’t know, I mean – we were just going to this site he wanted to photograph and it was nice, talkin’ to him. No offense but your other guests are too busy being in love to be my personal entertainment.” Geoff rolled his eyes at Michael’s jab.

“Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you decided to come up here, it’s not my fault your taste in women fell through. Maybe you’d be better off with a dude, you never know until you try.”

“Oh, I’ve tried, there’s definitely stuff to compare and contrast.”

“Like a dick? Wait, you’ve been with a guy before? How did I not notice?” Geoff furrowed his eyebrows and stared hard at Michael, his expression eerily similar to someone trying to do complicated long division in their head. Or wondering if they left the oven on at home. Or what the sound of one hand clapping was. Basically, he was very blatantly trying to imagine when, where, and how Michael had been in the vicinity of another man’s dick.

Michael didn’t care for the look. “What do you want me to do, wear a shirt that says “‘Down for dick and-or pussy’ on it?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. I just thought I was better at gay stuff.”

Michael rested his chin in his hand. “Gay stuff,” he repeated.

That, for some reason, seemed to jar Geoff back into a semi-normal state. “Well actually, you always struck me as a guy who didn’t care about romance at all.”

Michael frowned. “What? Really?”

Geoff’s mouth twitched downwards and he crossed his arms. “Well… you didn’t seem the type with your old girlfriend. You know how people say that when you’re with the right person you’re glowing and happy all the time and shit – I mean, specifically _after_ the honeymoon stage. You could be happy with a goddamn monkey in the honeymoon stage, but after is when shit gets rough and you have to be adults. But, never got that with you – it was like, I don’t know, a complete 180, you went from in love to a, a companionate marriage. Like a total lack of passion or wild sex or something.”

“And you’re only telling me this now, after I’m reeling from a broken heart.”

“Well it wasn’t like I was _around_ all the time to tell you. I figured if it was an issue, Lindsay or Gavin or someone would have brought it up.”

“In hindsight, they might’ve,” Michael held his water glass tightly, peering down into its depths. “I just ignored it.”

“I mean, look on the bright side; you’re sitting there, not bawling your eyes out! So I think I can say that your whole emotional crisis isn’t going to be as hard as you think.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe letting Ryan put his dick in you will speed your recovery along.”

“That literally makes no sense.”

“Hey, if rebounds didn’t do anything for anyone, they wouldn’t be that common, would they?”

“Ryan’s not a _rebound_ , Geoff. Jesus Christ, he’s like. Nice, and funny, and he likes the same games I like even if he’s one of those PC master race types.”

“Oh, so he’s a quick, emotional affair for you.” He snapped his fingers. “Got it. _Emotional_ rebound.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Michael got up from his chair and made his way to the doorway into the lounge. “You suck. You are the worst friend.”

“At least I don’t want to suck your dick like _someone_ does!” Geoff said dramatically, voice cracking. He was completely unbothered by the withering look Michael gave him, and honestly, Michael doubted he was the first guy that Geoff had that exact conversation with, as worrying as that was. With that thought, he admitted defeat and slunk up the stairs, heading back to his room.

He found Ryan in the hallway. Because, you know. Of course. Evidently, Michael was gone longer than he thought, because Ryan was coming from the bathroom, wiping his hair with a towel, his still damp skin making the t-shirt and flannel pants he wore cling to his frame. _Of course._

“Hey,” Ryan said. Michael could see a droplet of water travel from a wet strand of hair down his cheekbone, throat, and disappear into the fabric of his shirt collar.

“Hey,” he answered weakly. “Did you take a shower to warm up?” This was Geoff’s fault. He had… struck up strange emotions inside of him through the power of suggestion. Or maybe the fact that he hadn’t _done_ anything with Nicole for the last month of their relationship (and was only now realizing why in retrospect) was the cause. And hey, Ryan _was_ good-looking, on top of every other quality about him that Michael probably reveled in a little too much.

“Yep. The snow was getting to me.”

“Even through your long johns?” Michael inwardly cursed himself. He had to stop subtly flirting and bantering with the other man. Ryan was cool, but it wasn’t like Michael’s feelings went any deeper than some weird, passing attraction. “Uh, I mean, I wanted to ask; how have your pictures been coming out?”

Ryan brightened. “Oh, they’re good! I actually had trouble choosing which ones I liked more. I’m hoping my luck keeps up.”

“Now that _I’m_ here,” Michael said with a conspiring smile. “I mean, I’m always available if you feel like going out tomorrow. I’ll actually let you get work done this time.”

“Do you promise not to start a snowball fight?” Ryan asked.

Michael put a hand on his chest, bouncing happily on the balls of my feet. “Cross my heart,” he said. Goddamnit, keeping his interactions with Ryan blasé and platonic was hard as shit. He just _really_ liked the guy – he’d probably make a good friend even if he wasn’t single.

"You know, I don’t want you to feel like you have no choice but to hang out with me for a few hours every day. Like, you came here on a pseudo-vacation. I don’t wanna keep you from anything.”

Michael frowned. “You’re not keeping me from anything.”

“Are you sure?”

Michael bit his cheek and looked down before realizing he was just getting an eyeful of the thin cotton that was hugging Ryan’s body, and met his eyes again. “Let’s be honest, because you already got most of the picture earlier in the week. I got tickets up here to take my girlfriend and she dumped me, moved all her shit out and I said ‘fuck it’ and came up here, alone, and I don’t really have anything to do, anywhere to be, or anyone to be with.” He pursed his lips and glanced off to the side to gather his thoughts. “I just wanted to be around people for Christmas, you know? Even if it was going to be in the middle of a bunch of happy couples, it was better than being in my shitty apartment alone.” He rubbed his arm, thumb running over the nearly invisible hairs on his bicep. “I mean, now that I say it out loud I think it makes me sound more crazy than anything.”

“No, you don’t sound crazy,” Ryan said softly. Michael turned his head to look back at the other, but could barely make out the hand coming up in the periphery of his vision before there was a large, warm palm and long fingers squeezing just below his shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Being alone during holidays suck. It kind of makes you feel like a weird, social anomaly.”

Michael laughed. “Way to be clinical about it.”

“I mean, it’s true! And I’m here alone, and you’re here alone, so uh, we can definitely keep being alone, together, if you want.”

“We can do that. You seem cool, and not a murderer.”

“Both of those qualities can’t be guaranteed because you’ve only known me for like, half a week.”

“Nice, Ryan,” Michael fought down a yawn and wiped at his face. “Shit, it’s not even five and I’m tired. I need to take a nap or something.”

“Careful you don’t break a hip on your way back to your room.”

“Fuck you,” Michael replied automatically. “But the suggestion to keep hanging out still stands. If I can’t bring a significant other up here then I should at least be able to say I hung out with a cool, non-murderous photographer in the woods for a week. That’ll be good for a story or two.”

Ryan smiled. “I look forward to giving you a story or two to tell.” His hand slipped from Michael’s shoulder. “See you later, Michael.”

“See you, Rye.”

It wasn’t until Michael slipped into his own room, softly shutting the door and shucking off his still damp clothes that he realized he called Ryan ‘Rye’ – nicknames? Really? “Fuck me,” he muttered, tugging a pair of fleece pants out of a drawer with way more force than necessary.

He didn’t see Ryan for the rest of the night – which mostly consisted of him lounging around the lodge in pajama pants and drinking spiced cider while Geoff kept giving him refills and goading him into complaining about how gentrified and crowded Austin had been getting ever since Geoff left.

It should have been a relief to get a break from his confusing thoughts with Ryan, to talk and think about other things not even related to Ryan at all, but the entire time, Michael was secretly hoping Geoff would mention the other man again, just once. 


	6. Friday, December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!!! I warned y'all this might've been late... Between my finals (I didn't get out till the 21st) and then Christmas shopping and a never-ending parade of visiting families, I have been either too busy to write, or too tired to write. But I'm back! I hope everyone is enjoying their late December festivities and you enjoy this update as well. Next chapter will see things becomes more, uh, explicit. ;)

Ryan emerged from his room in time for breakfast. Michael tried to focus more on his eggs than the other man – between his friends’ jibes and his conversation with Geoff yesterday, not to mention his own murky feelings on the issue that was Ryan Haywood, he wanted to double down on being cool and calm. Casual, you know. He and Ryan were just two guys on vacation – well, he was on vacation, Ryan was working, but still. They just happened to mutually agree to hang out a lot. Nothing more to it than that.

Ryan sat across from him at the table. “So were you going to make me hot chocolate before or after we go out today?” He dug into a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, Geoff’s unrelenting stare at the pair of them bothering _him_ much less than it did Michael.

“Um…” He had a moment to collect his thoughts while Ryan ate, eventually tossing out a, “After, probably?”

Ryan nodded, and reached for the cup of coffee he had brought to the table with him.

“Where are you guys goin’?” Geoff asked, putting his elbows on the table, his head resting in his hands.

“A few places, actually, along the mountain ridge on the southwestern side of the park? They’re kind of far so I was gonna take my truck out and drive over to that direction before we actually start walking. Are you okay with that?” he asked, suddenly turning to Michael. “I mean we’ll probably be out for most of the day. I should have asked you, before.”

“No, I’m still down,” Michael replied automatically. It was only afterwards that he bothered to weigh the advantages between braving the tundra with Ryan again and going back to bed where he could curl up in a bunch of blankets and pretend winter didn’t exist.

He still ended up picking Ryan.

Ryan and Geoff were talking about the specific mountain ridge Ryan needed to get to and the few geographical points he needed to take pictures of. More water falls, deep forests, and tall mountains that seemed to scrape the low hanging clouds.

“Just be careful,” Geoff said. “It’s gonna snow this afternoon. Probably not a lot, but the roads up here don’t get plowed often, or ever.”

“We’ll be careful. Worst comes to worse, I’m sure we can push the truck somewhere and get it later, right Michael?”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah, I work out.” He finished his eggs and bacon and was now working on finishing up his coffee. “Does it always snow this much up here?”

Geoff shrugged. “I guess? The locals never said this year was a bad one. I heard we might get an actual blizzard on Christmas, though.” He frowned, rubbing his chin. “I mean, even you two will be in the lodge all day on Christmas, right? That’s like the ultimate holiday.”

“Yeah, after today I should have all the comparison portraits done,” Ryan said. “I got lucky with the weather holding out for most of the week. And Michael tagging along,” Ryan glanced back at him and offered a smile that made Michael’s attention snap back to the remaining dregs of his coffee. Not that his lack of reaction convinced Geoff of anything, but at least the guy had enough tact to not say something with Ryan between them.

“Hey Geoff,” Ryan asked out of the blue, “Did you manage to fix the printer yet?” Michael furrowed his brows. Geoff may have mentioned a printer that needed fixing. Probably the one in his cabin – Michael hadn’t seen anything faintly work related here, aside from Ryan’s laptop.

“Shit, yeah, Griffon and I fooled around with it, added new ink and toner, took it apart, couldn’t find what’s wrong with it. Still can’t. I’m guessing there’s something wrong with the wireless connection.”

Ryan frowned. “Does it have a connecting cable?”

“Probably, but that thing is a few years old and I can’t find the cable anywhere.”

“I figured you out of all people would keep a cable. Especially if you thought you weren’t gonna use it,” Michael offered.

“Oh fuck off, just because I don’t have the urge to catalog and obsessively clean shit.” Ryan looked over at Michael briefly, probably trying to cross the kind of loud bachelor with a penchant for vulgarity with someone who cataloged anything. “Yeah, I looked everywhere I _thought_ it could be but didn’t see it, who knows where it is. I mean, I ordered one on Amazon… but it delivers to the post office, and they’re not gonna be open until after you leave.”

“Damn, well. I guess there’s no helping it.” Ryan sighed. “It was just a nice printer. It could even use the photographic cardstock I have.”

“Maybe some office store in town will still be open tomorrow,” Geoff suggested. “When I get a minute I can look ‘em up for you. They all have weird names, and Google maps only does so much.”

Ryan chuckled good-naturedly. “Thanks – that would be great.” He finished his breakfast a few minutes later, and by then Michael was set to pull on more suitable clothes and head out. “Meet you back here in ten?” he asked Michael.

“Yeah, sounds good.” He could feel Geoff’s gaze on his back as he crossed through the lodge and went up the stairs.  

 

-

 

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.”

“You were swerving all over the road!” Michael said, leaving the red truck behind as he naturally fell into step behind Ryan, literally following in his footprints.

“That’s because there was so much snow I didn’t know where the road was!” Ryan protested. “We don’t have snow down South, okay? This is new for me.”

“Yesterday you were literally bragging about how the cold weather didn’t bother you. You can’t have a Northeastern winter without shitty road conditions, Ryan!”

“Okay, but what we were driving down barely constituted as a road, even before the snow.”

They both crested over the first ridge, panting slightly, and Michael blinked. “Oh, I didn’t realize we were this close.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad. I mean, we gotta keep hiking up to get to the other spots and then come back to the truck, but at least we get one out of the way right off the bat.” Ryan stepped a little closer to the site – this time a panoramic view of the barren forest below. “Even though it’s not super high up compared to the other peaks, it’s close enough to the trees that you can still make out a lot of detail on them.” Ryan explained, opening his bag and readying his camera. Michael watched him, poised to jump forward in case Ryan slipped or tripped or something.

Luckily, no such incident happened, and they were on their way to an even higher point along the mountain some minutes later. It was cold out today, hovering just above freezing. It would probably dip later in the afternoon around the time it was expected to snow. Michael huddled further down in his clothes, but the fact that they were constantly hiking up an incline made his blood pump faster, his body warming under his layers. His wind-bitten cheeks and cold feet provided some relief, some balance, from how hot he was getting under his jacket.

They didn’t talk for a while, nothing but the sound of muffled snow being crunched under their boots to be heard. But, like most of the silences they had shared since meeting, it wasn’t an uncomfortable one, Michael’s growing uncertainty with his feelings towards Ryan notwithstanding.

They stopped at another flat spot near the top of another peak sometime later, Ryan taking more pictures deep into the valley below. “It must’ve sucked hiking up here before cars were invented,” Michael said nonchalantly, kicking at the powdery snow.

“Mm.”

“Having to trap and skin animals yourself so you could make your own fur coat and leather boots… Dying of fuckin’, typhus. Having eight kids, having all of them dying of typhus.”

“Hey,”

“What, did they not have typhus back then?”

Ryan frowned. “What? No I was just – uh. This might sound weird, but… Can I take your picture?”

Michael’s brow creased. “Why would an actual photographer asking to take my picture be considered weird?”

“I mean, well –”

Michael slowly pivoted to stare at Ryan instead of the view beyond the peak, arms crossed over his chest. “Are you gonna put it up in your closet shrine? Next to my kidneys?”

“I mean…” Ryan scratched his beard. “You know, I feel like we talk about this sort of thing way more often than what's considered normal. Or healthy.”

Michael waved it off. “Nah, you should hear me and my buddy, Gavin. It’s all dicks and butts whenever we get together.

“Dicks... Murder,” Ryan mimicked a scale with his hands, raising them up and down intermittently. “So, picture or no picture?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, I’m cool with a picture. Honestly I haven’t really taken any the whole time I’ve been out here. No selfies.”

“How does your family even know you’re alive?”

Michael barked out a laugh, and shuffled in front of Ryan. His back was still to the escarpment, the white with specks of black and green forming an impressive background. He didn’t really know what to do with his hands, staring at Ryan, and Ryan’s camera. Actually, he didn’t know what to do with his body at all. “Uh…” He looked around and found a sizeable rock a foot away. He slid closer to it and put one foot on it, his arms resting proudly on his hips. “I’ve conquered the mountain! Nature’s got nothing on me, bitch!”

Ryan giggled and took a few snapshots. Michael slumped with relief and relaxed his body, when Ryan stopped, turning back to look at the view instead. That was possibly the most awkward he had felt with Ryan, including the first day they had wandered around the woods together. Whenever he had been in front of a professional photographer, it was for a group shot, never a solo thing. Aside from his yearbook pictures, but that was so routine and fast and it had been about a decade since he ever had one of those. This felt different. He sighed, peering over the edge, breathing in deep lungfuls of freezing air.

He heard Ryan step up towards him. “Michael,” he said quietly.

Michael turned around, only to be met with the rapid sound of clicks as the shutter went off multiple times a second. He went from benign to shock to playfully pissed off. He thought briefly about shoving Ryan away for tricking him, but they definitely had a ‘no more snowball fight’ rule – and that probably went double when they were on a steep mountain ridge. Instead he just grinned and went, “You’re such a dick.” He wasn’t surprised when Ryan laughed, or when another round of shutter clicks went off. “Seriously though, no more. I’m not, um. I don’t know. It’s just. Weird. I’m not photogenic.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked, staring at the screen, probably flicking through the pictures he had taken. His lips were pursed.

Michael shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a bit. “Pretty sure.”

“Hm. Suit yourself.” Michael slowly meandered back to where Ryan stood. Luckily the man didn’t show him any pictures. “Anything else we need to take pictures of?”

“Yeah, uh,” Ryan squinted through his viewfinder, swaying this way and that before putting his camera back in his bag. He pointed further along the ridge. “That way.”

“Over the hill?”

“Over the hill.”

Michael groaned, begrudgingly following the other through the snow.

 

-

           

They managed to get back to the car a few hours later, just before the sun set.

“Aw shit,” Ryan whined, not a minute into their drive. “It's snowing again.”

“Pussy,” Michael countered, watching a few flakes appear on the windshield. They drove in silence for a few more minutes, Ryan being more cautious on their drive home than he had been that morning. The snowfall picked up minutely, and when a few flakes hit the passenger side window, Michael looked over and squinted at them. “Pull over,” he said.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just – ” Michael blanched at how stupid his suggestion sounded, now that he gave it a second thought. “Uh, never mind. It’s nothing.” Just as he said that, Ryan pulled over to the side of the road – for whatever good it would do, considering the road was just barely big enough for one car in the first place, and even that width was being challenged by the snow that had piled up on both sides throughout the season. “I said you didn’t have to.”

“Fine.” Ryan said, putting the car in park and crossing his arms. “But I won’t move until you tell me what you wanted to say.”

“That’s such a dick move.” Ryan raised his eyebrows. “…I just wanted to look at the snowflakes.

“…Really?”

Michael shrugged. “Usually they’re just white specks. It finally got cold enough that you can see all the different patterns they take. Doesn’t happen often, so.”

“Is this what people from up here do for fun?” Ryan got out of the truck anyway, though. Michael followed him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The temperature seemed to have dropped significantly in the ten minutes they were travelling – the sun was fading from the sky, too, which probably explained the reason for the drop.

“As if you haven’t like, tipped a cow or something.” 

“I haven’t, though. Cows are gentle creatures that should be treated with respect. Oh!” Michael turned and saw Ryan examining a cluster of snowflakes that had dropped onto the back of his hand. “Wow… they really are all different.” They melted on his skin, and Ryan looked up, squinting at the sky.

“Kinda weird that you can’t really tell where the clouds end and the snow actually comes down,” Michael said, wandering towards the edge of the road and looking at the snow banks and bare trees that lined it. “There’s no starting point or anything. Just like in Minecraft.”

Ryan snorted. “You were almost getting onto something profound there before you just scaled it back.”

Michael crouched to the ground, a smile on his face as he touched the snow. “But I got you to pull over to look at snowflakes; that has to count for something.”

“Being the heroine in a romcom?”

Michael mimed flicking long hair over his shoulder and shaking his head; Ryan chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “Hey! What are you doing over there?”

“Observant as always,” Michael said dryly, starting to roll up a little snowball – until Ryan rushed over, grabbed him around the waist and hauled him to his feet. “Wha – Hey! I was doing something down there!”

“No snow in the car.” Ryan said firmly, still holding Michael tightly by the waist, even when the younger man squirmed. “Or on me, for that matter.”

Michael managed to turn in the other’s grip. He faced Ryan, still holding the half formed snowball. “You’re no fun.”

“Drop it.”

Michael raised the snowball up, edging it towards Ryan’s face. “What if I say no?”

“Then I’m not letting go of you,” he countered, doing an impressive job of acting unfazed as Michael let the snow hover a hair’s width away from Ryan’s cheek. Enough that he could feel the cold. His stoic expression didn’t change even when Michael flashed him a smug grin.

“Michael,”

“No.”

“ _Michael,_ ”

“Ryan,” Their breaths mingled together in large, white clouds as they stared and waited for the other to break first. Just as Michael was trying to predict what Ryan would do if he just smashed the – slowly melting – snowball into his face, he felt a snowflake land on his nose. The unexpected pinprick of cold made his face twitch, and Ryan finally broke, arms slowly loosening around Michael’s middle as he laughed at the younger man.

Michael tossed the snowball off to the side of the road and tipped his head back, making a show of catching snowflakes on his tongue instead. It was probably for the best; Ryan had no mercy when it came to getting even, he could already attest to that. The snowflakes that hit his tongue quickly melted into a frigid pool of water. More joined his cheeks and clouded his eyelashes. Even though he had left New Jersey five years ago, it had probably been much longer since he had bothered to do this.

Ryan had stopped laughing. Michael looked over and saw that, yes, there was a thirty-something year old man who had just finished getting pictures for an art gallery collection who was letting snowflakes fall onto his tongue for the first time, ever. Michael suddenly understood those people who were desperate for a taste of quality nostalgia; who just wanted a genuine return to childhood memories. It was nice, being out here, and being far away from people who knew him – aside from Geoff, who he wasn’t around all the time anyway. It was easier to let go, to feel free and be impulsive and childish and revel in it all.

He knew Ryan wasn’t the only reason why he managed to have fun on his vacation, why he was enjoying in a proper white Christmas in a way that he hadn’t really done since he was younger, but if he had to pick one person to thank, he knew who it’d be.

His tongue was getting too cold and try to feel anything, so he reluctantly shut his mouth, watching his breath condense into white mist. The snow was falling a little bit heavier, now. It stuck to his jacket, his hair. He frantically blinked away the ones stuck on his eyelashes as Ryan shook out his hair. “We should probably head back,” Ryan said, a little reluctant. “Before the weather gets worse.”

“Yeah.”

It was quiet and cold in the car, despite the heat blasting loudly. Ryan coughed, swallowed. “Is it weird to say that hanging out with you this past week has been nostalgic for me, even though I’ve never had a snowy Christmas until now?”

“Nah,” Michael said easily, rubbing his hands together. “I was actually thinking the same thing.”

More silence, heavier than before.

“Hey, Michael,”

“What’s up?”

“Don’t get all smug about this but – when we get back, can you make me some hot chocolate?”

Michael smiled. “Why, Ryan, I would be delighted.”

 

-

 

Michael had never been happier to stumble into the lodge and out of his frozen, snow-encrusted boots. “Thank Christ,” he muttered, shedding the rest of his layers, peeling off his soaked socks and rolling up his pant legs. "Geoff, we're back! Did you miss us?"

Ryan hung up his coat and put his wet scarf over it on the hook. “Don’t you wanna change first?”

“Nope. Hot chocolate first. Geoff!”

Predictably, Geoff was in the kitchen, and he poked his head out into the lodge, looking at him. “What?”

“I gotta make this guy cocoa, please tell me you have something.”

“Yeah, I got the best shit, as a matter of fact.” Michael shuffled towards Geoff, letting Ryan sort himself out, one way or another. Geoff took out a glass bottle filled with chocolate powder from the cabinet and handed it to him. Soon enough, Michael was heating some milk over a saucepan, digging for a measuring spoon in one of the drawers. He gave Geoff an unimpressed look when he slid a bottle of Bailey’s across the counter towards him.

“Ryan can’t drink that.”

“He wouldn’t even know it was in there.”

“Are you trying to poison me?” Ryan ducked his head into the kitchen, a frown affixed to his face. Michael pushed the Bailey’s back towards Geoff, and instead started rummaging around for some cinnamon, adding that into the steaming milk before dumping a generous amount of cocoa powder into the brew. Geoff had since gone to bother Ryan directly – asking him about his drinking habits, Ryan’s casual answers stumping the other man. There was more than enough for two cups, so Michael poured a third and handed it off to Geoff, who made a gleeful noise of thanks. Ryan was much less enthused.

“I still don’t understand what the big deal is…”

“Just shut up and drink your cocoa,” Geoff snapped, wandering back into the kitchen and leaving Michael and Ryan to their own devices.

They sat down, both on the raised stone surrounding the roaring fire, hoping to get some additional warmth back into their bodies. After a few minutes, Ryan took a hesitant sip of the hot chocolate. His brow furrowed. He took another, larger sip. Michael was trying not to stare.

“Well?” he ventured, when Ryan didn’t say anything immediately.

Ryan nodded, once. “You survived the elimination round, you can stay another week.”

“Oh my God.”

“I mean it’s good.”

Michael fought back a smile. "I got what you meant.”

“It’s like Christmas in a cup,” Ryan carried on, which _sounded_ like Ryan was trying to be funny, but the way he was staring at the half empty mug made it seem like he was at least partially serious. 

“Well, I'm glad you like it." Michael settled on, eventually. Ryan was staring at him from over the rim of his mug, some strange expression affixed to his face. He finished his drink quickly enough, and seemed to savor every sip.

He stood up. "I need to go look at the pictures," he said by way of explanation.

"You mean you aren't going to sing my culinary praises for the next four hours? I'm disappointed in you, Rye-bread."

"Rye-bread?"

Michael felt his cheeks color. "I'm hungry, leave me alone," he defended. Ryan smiled again and patted his hair. "Don't change the subject - I slave over a hot stove all evening and this is the thanks I get?" 

"Are you two making fun of me out there?" Geoff called from the kitchen.

"No, Geoff!" They both said in unison. Ryan turned back to look at Michael, a little apologetic.

"Sorry, I need to make sure I got everything right. I only have so many more days up here. Maybe next time?"

Ryan was right, their time together was running out - which shouldn't have made him as disappointed as it did. The concept of a ‘next time’ was dubious, but Michael didn’t comment on that. If anything, it would have been nice for there to be a next time for – for something. "Sure," he agreed breezily. "Next time."

Whatever that something may be.

 


	7. Saturday, December 24th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's too late for Christmas-themed festivities, but it's never too late for sleazy myan sex scenes, so there.

When Ryan didn’t make a grand appearance after breakfast, Michael tried to look like he had a plethora of fun winter activities to do that he obviously didn’t need the other lodge guest to be there for. He had even managed to get all bundled up and trudge out to the mostly cleared off porch, where Jack, Ashley, and Burnie were drinking coffee and talking about the likeliness of yet another storm.

“I mean, I’m all for a white Christmas,” Jack was telling the other two, thumbing through the weather app on his phone, “I’m just worried we’re gonna get snowed in or something.”

“Nah, it’s not going to be that bad,” Burnie placated.

“Another storm? Like, today?” Michael asked, walking towards them.

“Yeah, weather report said something about flurries tonight, which will turn into an actual storm on Christmas. That’s probably why your buddy left so early.” Michael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh, you mean Ryan?”

“Yeah, Geoff said he went out into town early this morning.”

“Maybe for pictures,” Michael muttered to himself, trying not to feel offended that Ryan didn’t think he was enough of an early riser to join him. “He’s, like, doing a photography series.”

“Ooh,” Ashely said, drawing out the impressed tone of her voice. “Is that where you two have been going?”

“Yeah, I mean I just, uh, like tagging along,” Michael said, scowling at himself for how dumb he sounded. He didn’t want to imply that he and Ryan were together in any sense of the word, but he didn’t want to make himself sound like some lost puppy. “It works out,” he added. “I like hiking and I make sure he doesn’t get lost in the wilderness.”

“Sounds like a good team,” Ashley said, taking a sip of her coffee. “That reminds me of this time Burnie and I went to Thailand and he lost his phone –”

Burnie interrupted: “Okay, I did _not_ lose my phone,”

“You said you couldn’t find it and we had downloaded all the directions onto your iPhone!”

“No, we _emailed_ them to my account, we could have gotten them on your phone but –”

“Fight, fight, fight,” Jack whispered under his breath. Michael chuckled – evidently the couples that were staying at the lodge were capable of more than making heart eyes at each other. When the story eventually got straightened out, much to the amusement of everyone but Burnie, Michael decided to go through with his plan of wandering around the mountain. Might as well take in the sights before the alleged snow storm forced everyone inside for some amount of time, right?

He picked a path at random, though he did try to actually stick to a path – last thing he wanted was to get stuck in a blizzard or fall down a ravine or not be able to find his way back to the mountain lodge.

In fact, he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he felt kind of uneasy, walking through the woods alone. Even when it was light out and he could see a decent ways in front of him due to the bare trees, it was too isolating, too quiet. The lack of birdsong and wind rustling through leaves turned what was a vibrant forest most of the year into a deathly quiet shadow of its former self. For all the charm of Christmas and the other holidays of the season, winter was more about death and stalled motion – running water forced to freeze, animals driven to warmer climates or into hibernation.

It wasn’t nearly as appealing as Ryan’s pictures – Ryan’s mere presence – made it seem.

His ears perked at the sound of water, and he blindly wandered towards the sound, eventually spotting a stream about three feet wide. Surprisingly, most of it remained thawed. Looking both ways, he picked a direction that he and Ryan hadn’t gone before. He was careful to stay some distance away from the edge of the stream – there was no telling where the bank ended under all the snow, and there was no one around to pull his ass out of the water if he slipped.

Peace; quiet; isolation; serenity. All the stuff that someone else would have been relieved to have thrust upon them, all the things Michael thought would be useful when he got up to the lodge in the first place, and he hated it. Hated the way the cold made his nose run, his ears burn, his fingers go numb inside his gloves. Hated having nothing to do but think. Maybe he was never good at introspection, and even worse at being alone. Being single he could do – so long as he had friends, acquaintances, _people_ around him.

That whole meditation concept was such bullshit, Michael thought, sourly kicking the snow; he knew shit about himself. The times he knew who he truly was wasn’t when he was the only soul around, the only example of a human in any direction he looked; it was when he was around others, talking to someone, realizing what matched and what clashed between them, what problems they shared and what was unique to him alone. After all, wasn’t that the point of therapy? How did he know what was normal if he never got outside his own head?

The white noise of running water had rushed forward, incredibly loud. He stood on his tiptoes and peered out in front of him, realizing that what seemed like a slight hill a stone’s throw in front of him was instead a rushing waterfall.

He edged closer, knees slightly bent and hands out in case the snow suddenly gave way. He got as close as he dared, eyeing the slick, black rocks at the end of a twenty, maybe thirty foot drop. Something in his stomach loosened as he stood there. The water had etched its way through the rock for a millennia, the mountains older than the country, or any country that existed at all, and would continue to flow long after Michael left.

In a way, it kind of put a perspective on things: Shit happens, life goes on.

For example, if Michael decided to throw himself off of the edge of the cliff, down into the rocks below and never be seen from again, well. People would get over it eventually.

He frowned, and hesitantly stepped away from the falls. That wasn’t _quite_ the lesson he was hoping for. Grumbling to himself, he dug in his back pocket, pulling out his phone. He was definitely having a great time overall, and his worst day at the lodge still had to beat being holed up in his apartment; no point in feeling sorry for himself. He unlocked his phone, looking for his camera app to snap a picture of nature’s wonders.

Instead, he saw that he had a new text message and clicked on it, first. There was no service where he was now, he must have gotten it when he hiked out here.

It was from Nicole.

Michael paused, reading the name over again. He hadn’t deleted her number, after all. Didn’t want to think about what doing that would imply.

Thumb shaking, he clicked on her name, seeing the message pop up in all its glory:

_Merry Christmas_

It didn’t seem like a forwarded message – even if it was, it was kind of… bleak. No emojis, no exclamation point, even. Michael’s thumbs hovered over the screen, wondering what he could type. _You too, I hope you’re doing well._ Or maybe, _Fuck you._ Or even, _Is your old boyfriend not as cool as you remembered?_ He could feel the bitterness tying large, writhing knots in him, and sending an acidic taste up his throat. To think he hadn’t felt this in days; those initial hot rushes of anguish so far removed, only to be called back by a stupid, meaningless, two word text.

He couldn’t think of anything to say. Not that it mattered, no service.

Michael sniffled in the cold air, reading the message one more time to either make sure it was real or just to torture himself, before putting his phone back in his pocket. He crossed his arms over his chest and spun around, following the footsteps he had made in the snow, slowly working his way back to the lodge in silence.

- 

Ryan wasn’t there when he got back. It was after lunch, before dinner. Michael couldn’t bring himself to work up an appetite besides a thirst for one sad, lonely beer that he drank in silence over the kitchen sink. Then he slunk off to his room, getting under the covers to warm up, maybe throw himself a pity party. Instead he konked out, settling into a restless sleep that he didn’t get up from until someone banged on his door.

In his confused state, he roused himself and clumsily pawed at the door handle until it swung open, revealing a disgruntled looking Geoff. “You missed dinner,” he complained. “I slaved in the kitchen all day and you –” He stopped. “Wait. What’s wrong? You sick or something?”

If only. Michael rubbed at his face. “Uh, no I just fell asleep, um. I got some… bad news, from family.”

“Is somebody dead?” Geoff asked, in typical Geoff fashion that made Michael’s lips twitch in a smile.

“Not yet,” he said, attempting a joke. He felt bad about lying, but it got Geoff to leave with the promise of depositing leftovers at his door. In the meantime Michael put on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and went to the bathroom, splashing his face with water to rouse himself.

That, and the delicious looking meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, various vegetables, all slathered in homemade gravy, made Michael feel more uplifted than he had expected, almost like he had never gotten Nicole’s message in the first place –

Actually, the thought still made his stomach churn. But still.

He finished his dinner, brought the plate down to the kitchen and ignored the phone that was searing a hole in his pocket. Just to prove that he had any modicum of self-control, he texted Lindsay and Gavin, wishing them a good holiday, and called his parents for a few minutes, assuring them he was having a grand old time and that he would still see them after he left the lodge on the 27th. He stared at Nicole’s message, then, and after thirty agonizing seconds, turned off his phone. There. Out of sight, out of mind.

That still left him wondering what to do with himself for the next few hours before he went to sleep again. There wasn’t a television in his room, and he had decided not to bring his laptop, just in case the temptation became too great and he holed himself in his room to Facebook stalk his ex and cry while watching Netflix. But that left him with a severely limited rotation of things to do.

He ended up wasting a few hours on his DS playing Pokémon – finally beating Lusamine and her freaky fusion with Nihilego, he decided a break was well deserved. He tried to tidy up the room somewhat, packing his dirty clothes into his suitcase and tossing any unnecessary junk into the trash. He considered going around to find Geoff and talk to him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to think up a lie of what could be upsetting him, or worse, tell the truth and have Geoff lecture him for twenty minutes about how he should just ‘let Ryan suck his dick and get over himself’, or something. So he ended up taking a shower instead, before struggling under the covers and hoping he could fall asleep. Ryan wasn’t leaving until the day after Christmas, so even though today wasn’t _great_ , they’d definitely make up for it tomorrow. He just had to concentrate on sleeping, now.

Easier said than done.

Michael sighed, rolled over, and turned on his phone to check the time. Half past twelve, now. Certainly didn’t feel like Christmas, even with Nicole’s faux-cheery text tormenting him. The late night paranoia had set in hard: What was he supposed to say? What did it _mean?_ Was she regretting things now? Had she begun phase two of the breakup and decided to send Michael a barrage of texts that he would agonize over whether or not to answer? Did she miss him – was she drunk? Or was she so over their relationship that she saw nothing even potentially misleading about sending him a text message only a week after she had picked up her stuff and disappeared into the ether?

He still had the handle of whiskey that Geoff gave him. He hadn’t really felt like dipping into it alone in his room. Until now, at least. “Fuck it, it’s Christmas,” he mumbled, kicking the covers off in a huff and getting to his feet. He didn’t bother turning on the lamp, instead using the pale, silvery light of the moon to guide him as he stumbled around the room, picking up the gift basket from the armchair and digging through it until his hand closed in on the neck of the bottle.

Just then, he noticed the hall’s light cut out from where it shone under the door, and what sounded like paper crinkling.

Michael saw something dark and flat try to fit its way under the door, withdraw, then press up against it more slowly, only to withdraw again. Then, a muffled curse.

It… probably wasn’t a murderer, despite what half of Michael’s brain was telling him. He readjusted his grip on the bottle nonetheless – he’d hate to waste good whiskey, but if it was that or his life he’d make the sacrifice – and crept as quietly as he could towards the door, turning the latch.

Heat bloomed in his chest and his pulse raced in his throat. Flexing his fingers around the bottle, he raised it like it was a baseball bat and flung open the door as wide as he could.

The beginnings of a yell immediately died when he saw who it was.

“Uh, Ryan?”

“…Hi,” the other said weakly, waving a hand. He was crouched in the hall, a small, rectangular package on the ground in front of him. It was wrapped in bright red paper. “Merry Christmas?”

“You.” Michael rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You’re the worst Santa I’ve ever seen.” He looked back down at the older man. “Is that for me?”

Ryan slowly picked up the wrapped present. “Uh, yeah. I was out all day because I drove into town – three towns, actually – trying to, uh, get it.”

“I hate to break it to you, but if it’s a video game I probably already have it.”

“No, it’s nothing as cool as that, unfortunately.” Ryan was still looking at it, rubbing his thumb over a patch of tape. “I wanted to surprise you, but clearly that didn’t work.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” He looked over his shoulder, into the room. It looked just as unappealing as before he opened the door. “Do you wanna… come in?”

Ryan glanced at the bottle. “Offering me a nightcap?”

“A what? Dude, this isn’t the fifties. I haven’t seen you all day and I missed hanging out with you.”           

He got to his feet. Michael was suddenly afraid he would leave. “I guess I do owe you some quality time, even though that _was_ for your benefit.” Michael mutely stepped aside, letting Ryan into his room. He shut the door behind him and flicked on the table lamp that was sitting on the bureau; just enough to cast a yellow light across the room.  Ryan took the liberty of setting down Michael’s gift basket and sinking into the armchair. “Huh, you weren’t kidding about the condoms,” he said, showing off the small magnum pack to Michael. He scrutinized the label. “I think these are my size.”

Michael snorted. “I think they’re my size, too.” He unscrewed the cap of whiskey and took a long pull, scrunching up his nose after. “I’m praying that was just a lucky guess on Geoff’s part.” He sat on the edge of the bed, facing Ryan.

“So,” Ryan dropped the condoms and pushed the basket away with his foot. “Any reason why you’re up late?”

“It’s not even one in the morning, it’s not _that_ late.” When Ryan cocked an eyebrow at him. Michael bit his cheek, and glanced at his phone. “Got a text earlier today. From, uh…” He took another shot of the whiskey before screwing the cap on, placing it by his feet. “I never thought getting a fucking ‘Merry Christmas’ text was gonna fuck me up, but here we are.”

“Oh, wow.” Ryan clasped his hands together in his lap. “What a dick move.”

“I don’t know what she wants,” Michael admitted, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, then to the shoulder he pulled when he helped Ryan from tripping that day at the falls. It didn’t hurt anymore, but he couldn’t help but touch it, anyway, digging his fingers into the muscle to try and drag his thoughts to the present.

Ryan was still staring at him. “Does it still bother you?”

“Maybe.”

He was still looking over at his phone when he felt a dip in the bed, Ryan gingerly settling behind him and putting his hands on Michael’s shoulders.

He must have stiffened, must have moved slightly under Ryan’s hands, because then the older man breathed into his ear, “If you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?” He didn’t know what was happening, now. He was caught between knowing that he should push Ryan – nearly a stranger, more than likely a rebound, like Geoff said, and either way someone he’d never see again – out of his room, to hell with the awkwardness. But why? He wasn’t with Nicole anymore, wasn’t tied down with anyone in any way. He was an adult man who could do a perfectly fine job parsing out his emotions (a passable job, maybe).

"Michael?” Ryan asked. God, he didn’t want Ryan to leave.

Push him away, tell him to go. That’s what he should have done, but he couldn’t find the will to do anything but nod, and sigh in relief when Ryan’s fingers pressed along the points of tension that had been building up below his neck and along his back.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly a masseuse?”

“I’m sure,” Maybe he was crazy, but he could hear the smile in Ryan’s voice when he said that. Could picture the exact way his mouth turned, how his beautiful eyes lit up. He worked his knuckles down the line of his back and Michael groaned in relief as he got towards the base of his spine, body curling inwards, skin tingling from the relaxation that was slowly working over him.

“Is this how you’re gonna help me get to sleep?” he asked. God, he’d lay down to let Ryan work him over if it wasn’t – if it didn’t mean. Hell, he’d probably do it, anyway, if it would get Ryan to keep touching him like this.

“Maybe.” His hand left the base of his back and instead began rubbing at his neck. His eyes had been shut for a while, but he felt them fluttering behind his lids when Ryan touched him there. “Michael?”

“Mm?”

“I know things haven’t been easy for you,” Michael tried to stiffen, but it was next to impossible. “And I’m definitely not making it easier.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

Ryan slowly pulled his hands away from his body, and Michael had to fight to stay quiet, shaking his head and blearily opening his eyes again.

Ryan’s chin rested on his shoulder, and his arms gently snaked over the front of his shirt. “I like you,” he mumbled into Michael’s skin. “More than I should. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you like me, too.”

Michael couldn’t go to sleep now if he tried. “I do,” he admitted, before his mind could even begin to conceive of why he shouldn’t. “God, I really do.”

Ryan let out a breath, the warm air ghosting past the collar of Michael’s shirt and warming his chest. His fingers entwined together over Michael’s belly, holding him. “But I like you too much to pull you into something you’d regret later.”

That was true. And Michael liked Ryan all the more for saying it – for giving him an out, a reason to push him away. Michael turned his head, nose pressed into Ryan’s hair. He could smell the freshness of his shampoo – something like tea tree oil or peppermint that he probably picked up from a health food store in whatever Southern art town he appeared from. This was the first time Michael had ever smelled it on him and he already knew he was going to miss it as soon as Ryan left. “I came here to get away from my problems, and I tried to forget her,” Michael said. “It’s not gonna be that easy, I’m not gonna be over it this soon. But,” He brought a hand up to cup Ryan’s cheek, the short strands of his beard prickling the sensitive skin of his palm. “But that doesn’t mean my feelings for you are fake – or even a result of the mess I’m in. I just really fucking like you, Rye. I’d like you no matter where or how we met, I promise.” He felt Ryan lean into his touch, the skin of his cheek warm and soft. “Maybe, just maybe, I regret doing this with you.” He swallowed. “But I know for a fact I’ll regret kicking you out even more.”

“…You sure?”

“Promise.”

Ryan moved away from Michael’s hand, and Michael turned his head, their lips meeting in a careful kiss.

It was weird. To be kissing someone that wasn’t Nicole – wasn’t a woman at all. Had a goddamn _beard_. Though… that didn’t mean it was bad. They pulled away for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. Michael glanced down, back to Ryan’s mouth, still slightly parted. He got up on his haunches and turned to sit in front of the other man, one hand carefully winding behind his neck. “How’s this?” he whispered, noses nearly brushing.

“Perfect,” Ryan breathed out. “God, Michael, you’re so…”

Michael felt himself smiling. “Yeah?” He didn’t let Ryan finish his thought, too eager to lean forward and kiss him again, his free hand curling in the soft fabric of Ryan’s shirt while the other threaded through his hair. Ryan’s mouth moved faster than his hands, but eventually they caught up, curling around his hips, fingers sneaking under his shirt.

Michael shivered when Ryan’s fingertips gently caressed over his sides, an old, familiar feeling bubbling up in his chest and radiating out of him. He pushed at the other’s chest until he was lying down on the bed, and Michael swung a leg over his thighs and laid down right on top of him. “Comfy?” Ryan asked.

“Yep.” He leaned forward and pressed kisses up and down Ryan’s throat, movements excited and chaotic. He even paused to nuzzle his cheek against the coarse hair of Ryan’s beard. Its length made it less rough than stubble, firm but not painful. It was yet another interesting sensation to marvel over.

He leaned into the other’s firm body and bit down at the juncture between Ryan’s shoulder and neck. Ryan’s breath hitched. “Michael –”

Michael felt his own cock twitch at Ryan’s gasp, the way he said his name. “Sorry, was that too much?” he asked, already laving over the spot with his tongue. God, he just wanted to _devour_ Ryan, and the longer this went on the harder it’d be to stop.

“Fuck no, keep going – wait, actually –” Michael felt the other’s hands go down to his lower back, clutching the hem of his shirt and pulling it up. Michael got the idea, pulling away from Ryan’s neck and tugging his shirt off, watching with a keen eye as Ryan did the same.

Michael shamelessly drank the other in – Ryan wasn’t chiseled or defined, but the bigness, the broadness of his arms and chest were no less powerful. Michael’s urge to wreck the him came back full force, and he pushed Ryan down on the bed, biting another spot on his neck and reveling in the possessive hands that were now roaming along Michael’s back and sides, squeezing his hips, sliding along the curve of his ass to disappear below the hem of his sweatpants. “Oh, someone’s eager,” he said darkly, giving Ryan an impish glance.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? How could I not?” Michael preened at the compliment, rising from the comfortable hollow of Ryan’s throat – now with a few added marks – to brush his lips against Ryan’s, more of a tease than a kiss. “I think I’ve been ‘eager’ for most of the week.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I was unwittingly seducing you this whole time.” Well, maybe he was sort of flirting with Ryan for _some_ of the time, but he was more than a little curious to know if their first meeting, when Ryan saddled him with a peculiar look, really _had_ meant to be a signal. He slowly, purposefully, ground down against Ryan’s crotch. “Well, since we’re here… Is there something in particular you were hoping you’d get to do?”

“Fuck you, suck you off, make you scream my name, but this is all a wonderful start,” Ryan quipped back, squeezing Michael’s ass with both hands and pushing their cocks together. “Anything _you_ want?”

“How about all of the fucking above?” Michael kissed Ryan again, not bothering to hide how hard he was, or how much he really wanted to do all of those things and more. Hopefully a lot more. “Though I guess now’s a good time as any to say that I haven’t, uh, been with a guy in ages.” Since before Nicole, before a few other girlfriends, in fact. Though so far he loved being reminded of what falling into bed with a guy entailed.

Ryan nodded, sliding his hands back out of Michael’s pants and resting them on his hips. “In that case,” He rolled them over, arms bulging as he moved Michael’s body in one fluid motion that had him on his back, arms up against the pillows. “We ought to make the prep work worth your while, huh?” Ryan slid his hands – and the rest of his body – away, getting off the bed to search through the contents of Geoff’s gift basket. Despite the way Ryan’s words were making his heart beat fast and his dick pulse almost painfully in his underwear, he couldn’t help but laugh when Ryan turned back around, brandishing a familiar box of condoms and lube.

“You know what? I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about Geoff, ever. He’s my new best friend.”

Ryan returned, setting the condoms on the side table and pulling the small bottle of lube out of its packaging. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” He stood at the foot of the bed, throwing the lube next to Michael’s hips and putting his hands back on the hem of the other’s sweatpants. “Mind if I take these off?”

Michael smiled. “Not at all,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth he was naked, and not a second later Ryan was spreading his legs and settling between them. Michael quickly settled against some pillows, giving Ryan room to do whatever came to that brilliant mind of his.

The first of which being, ducking down and pressing open-mouthed kisses to his inner thighs, hot and wet, and while the scrape of the other man’s beard was hardly noteworthy against his cheek, Michael realized that the skin of his thighs were much more sensitive, his whole body locking up for a second, nerve endings confused at the tingling sensation – walking a thin line of pain and pleasure.

Ryan caught the movement. “Okay?” he asked, mouth halfway to a new spot on his thigh.

“Okay,” Michael breathed out, the leg not being focused on at the moment hooking lightly over Ryan’s shoulder. “Has anyone told you that beard is the best?” Ryan smiled, nipping at another bit of exposed, sensitive skin.

“Actually, no. I usually don’t have one.”

“For the love of God, try to keep it.”

“I will,” and Ryan ducked back down, licking and kissing and biting marks to match the ones Michael had given him, and Michael sank deeper into the pillows, his nerve endings still on edge but the core of his body humming from the feeling of being touched, kissed, fawned over. He put a hand down, running his fingers through Ryan’s hair – soft, a bit long, probably fun to tug. But he didn’t pull yet, instead petting the other’s head as a way to ground himself while Ryan’s lips traveled from one thigh to the other, then to his lower stomach, and hips, until it was screamingly obvious how much Ryan loved to tease him.

“Ry-yan,” Michael whined. He didn’t want to sound too desperate, and honestly he wouldn’t have minded if Ryan just kept giving him love bites and running his beard against the freshly reddened skin, but, well, it had been a while. Post-breakup depression didn’t really lend itself to one night stands, having fun with yourself, or having any fun at all. “Rye, please?” he breathed out, meeting the other’s captivating eyes for a moment.

Ryan removed his hand from Michael’s hip and wrapped it around the base of his shaft, one side of his mouth quirking when the younger man let out a hiss of air and bucked his hips up into his grip. Then Ryan leaned forward and pressed a careful kiss to the side of his cock, then another, and another, until Michael couldn’t bite his lips any harder and instead just melted further onto the pillows with a moan, resisting the urge to press Ryan’s head down until he got the picture and started blowing him for real.

Eventually, thankfully, the older man got the picture, sucking the head of Michael’s red and leaking cock into his mouth, the thumb of the hand holding him rubbing maddening circles along the base of his shaft, his other fingers flexing and releasing just enough to add an additional sensation besides Ryan’s amazingly hot mouth swallowing him deeper and deeper with every bob of his head. “Shit, goddamnit, Ryan – don’t you _dare_ stop,” he growled, when it looked like Ryan’s mouth was going to leave his cock. The other man obeyed, though he did take his hand off Michael’s dick to reach for the little bottle of lube still on the blanket.

“Go ‘head,” Michael murmured, once he felt a slicked finger at his entrance. He tried to relax and not let his face betray any discomfort – no way in hell was he going to have Ryan not fuck him tonight.

He let out a breath when Ryan’s forefinger slowly, very slowly, pressed all the way inside, only to gasp when Ryan ducked his head and sucked _hard_ on his cock. It became a maddening pattern – Ryan spreading him open with a finger – then two, then three, and by then he could feel the lube dripping down his ass and onto the sheets below – all while sucking his cock. It was easy to put the burning sensation in the back of his mind when Ryan was between his legs, occasionally looking up at him to make sure he was doing alright.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” Michael babbled, as he felt a heat spread throughout his lower abdomen. “I’m gonna come s-soon if you don’t s-Ryan!” Michael careened forward as Ryan nearly swallowed his cock down, fingers still rocking in and out of his ass. Fuck, _fuck_ he was so _close_ – “Rye,” he panted, unsure if he wanted Ryan to stop or not.

Ryan looked up at him, again, and finally pulled his mouth off of him. Michael didn’t know whether to slump back in relief or try to nudge those swollen, red lips closer to his cock to finish the job.

Then Ryan’s hand – the one that wasn’t preoccupied with stretching him open – wrapped around his dripping cock and started stroking him. Not in a teasing, slow way. No, Ryan’s grip was firm and he was moving so fast that Michael wriggled against it, wanting to chase the intensity and slow it down at the same time. He panted out the older man’s name again, only to hear Ryan speak for the first time in ages.

“Come for me,” he murmured, still staring up at Michael, that fucking _mouth_ so close to the head of his cock. Ryan’s fingers were hooked inside of him, still pushing into him, like they were searching – Michael bit his lip when they found his prostate, and not a second later he was coming for the first time in weeks from Ryan’s mouth, Ryan’s hands, all of it Ryan – bearing down on him and making him come so hard he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it all, not daring to open them again until everything became still and he could hear more than his own heartbeat.

Michael let out a large breath, some indiscernible time later, chest and stomach relaxing, and squinted down at Ryan, who was still settled happily between his legs, wiping both his hands on the edge of the sheet like it was a towel. “Geoff’s gonna hafta clean that up,” he mumbled.

“Well if Geoff didn’t want to clean up questionable stains, he shouldn’t have given you things that promote the creation of said questionable stains.” He glanced at Michael’s cock, gently holding it and sucking the last few drops of come from the slit.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Michael hissed, not taking his eyes off Ryan as he rose up onto his knees and gave Michael a fond smile. Like he didn’t just finger him open, suck him off, and then make out with the head of his cock just for the fucking hell of it. _God._

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Amazing? Kind of… still can’t think. Good, though, so good. C’mere,” Michael opened his arms and let Ryan settle on top of him with a happy huff, kissing him and pulling back slightly when he tasted himself. “Huh.” He forgot what that was like, too.

“What? You don’t like that?” Ryan asked.

“Nah. S’fine. Though if I’m allowed to complain, when are you gonna take your pants off?” Ryan immediately wrestled with the pajama pants he was still wearing, wanting to take them off without getting up. Eventually, he managed it, the two of them lying naked together, Ryan hard and leaking and hot against his hip. Michael smiled up at him and kissed him once more. Ryan’s hands were busy, running through his curls, another running up and down his side, touching his hip and thigh, and fuck if Michael didn’t miss this; someone touching him, mapping out his body with a curious tenderness. Maybe whatever they had between them wasn’t going to turn into some grandiose love story, but it was so much more than a physical drive, a one-night stand that meant nothing. Ryan pressed kisses across his jaw and cheeks, even one on his nose, making Michael laugh and Ryan grin in response. “I don’t want to rush you,” the other said, some minutes later. “Let me know when you want to move again.”

“Mm, now’s good,” Michael replied easily.

“You sure?” Michael was still soft, but fuck if the feel of Ryan’s cock against him wasn’t helping to fix that issue.

“Fuck yes, get started, I’ll catch up – if you’re half as good at this as you are sucking cock, I mean, fuck, Rye,” he looked up at the other, pleased to catch the blush and the sharp smile together, a flustered and confident Ryan was an especially attractive one, indeed.

“Okay.” Ryan started to straighten up, though Michael beat him to the chase, getting a condom out of the box and its packaging. He rolled it onto Ryan’s shaft, trying to not get distracted about how amazing he felt in his hands, how excited he was to get that inside him. He laid back, watching Ryan rub a liberal amount of lube on the condom, and the rest against Michael’s entrance. “Ready?” he asked, lining himself up.

“Would it be a cliché to say I was born ready?”

Ryan let out an amused huff. “Probably,” and with that he slipped in, slow and careful, not that it could stop the uncomfortable twinge Michael felt as he was stretched further than fingers for the first time in a long while. But Ryan _was_ careful, slowly inching in until he was about halfway, and then stopping. “How’s that?”

Michael paused, one of his hands reaching forward to grab at something – it didn’t hurt, but he needed to ground himself.

What he didn’t expect was Ryan’s hand reaching out to meet his own, tangling their fingers together. “…Yeah, yeah you can keep going,” he murmured, worrying his lip until Ryan bottomed out. Then he sucked in a breath of air at how full he felt, wriggling his hips, Ryan’s cock shifting with him.

“You okay?”

Michael slowly breathed out. “Yeah, I – I just forgot, how good it feels, you know. When you get used to it.” He glanced up at Ryan, who was watching him intently. For more indulgent reasons than just making sure he was okay, Michael thought with a shiver.

Ryan pulled out nearly the whole way and thrust back inside, setting a slow, deep pace that made Michael squeeze the other’s hand for the first minute or so, and then he _really_ got used to it and disentangled their fingers so he could wrap his arms around Ryan’s neck, and his legs around his hips, whole body moving from the other man’s thrusts.

Ryan was panting in his ear, not talking, unable to form words – not that Michael was any better, too caught up in how it felt to be so wrapped around another person. One of his hands pulled harshly at Ryan’s hair and the older man groaned, fucking into him even deeper than before. God, he was going to be sore in the morning, but he didn’t care – in the back of his mind, Michael drew a sweet feeling of pleasure from it, of the physical marks Ryan had left, would leave all over him. With that thought he leaned up, kissing against Ryan’s shoulder before biting at the skin. He tasted Ryan, smelled his skin as he marked him relentlessly. Around and above him, his whole world had narrowed into Ryan, Ryan, _Ryan_ –

“ _Michael_ ,” he cried out, more desperate than ever. Michael felt a shaky hand envelop his cock, squeezing it slightly more than stroking it as Ryan shifted, tried to maintain his balance. Michael tried to help – he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t figure out how to jerk himself off – but Ryan batted his hand away, finally hitting a rhythm where he was able to stroke Michael in time with his thrusts.

It was so easy to come, after that, Michael’s mouth pressed into the crook of Ryan’s neck as he shuddered, Ryan following along not moments after.

Michael couldn’t keep track of time, didn’t want to bother with it. He felt good, unbothered, and there wasn’t a thought in his head aside, strangely meditative considering what had transpired was as far from a monastery lifestyle as one could imagine. He was faintly aware of Ryan pulling out, getting off from the bed for a moment, and then laying back on top of him. Michael wrapped an arm around his back, drawing him in further. He would have been content to stay still for as long as possible, until reality crept its way back in.

Parts of him – that were enveloped by Ryan’s body – were perfectly warm. The rest, however, were beginning to go clammy. Ryan seemed to have the same predicament, and with a grunt he reached along the foot of the bed and threw the covers over them both. “There. Good as new.”

“Not even gonna put some underwear back on, huh?”

Ryan shook his head, hair flopping down into his face. Michael pushed it back. “Why? Do you want me to cover my shame once I’m done using it?”

“No, just – cold.”

Ryan sighed, arms tightening around Michael’s sides as though to warm him up further. “I don’t even want to think about putting clothes back on.”

“That’d be a pretty fucking high-stakes walk of shame, then,” Michael said, fighting back a yawn. Ryan was such a warm and comfortable weight on top of him, and he doubted he could muster up the energy to roll over. He felt Ryan’s hand card through his hair like he had just done to Ryan, and his eyes slipped closed, sighing happily at the touch.

“It would be. So does that mean I’m allowed to stay?” Ryan asked. Michael felt the muscles in his body relax even further, his brain tugging him closer towards sleep. One of his hands came up to rest along Ryan’s shoulder, the side of his face still pressed against the other’s chest. It honestly felt like he was a minute away from falling asleep like this.

"Yeah,” Michael said, too tired to be anything but honest. “You can stay.”


	8. Sunday, December 25th (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally updated this fic!!! and it only took, uh, a year :)) 
> 
> I promise updates will be more regular after that blunder though. I guess I wasn't made for multi-chaptered fics, but this story is still really close to my heart, and I want to see it through! (and I'm sure you all do, too). Thanks for being patient with me!

Michael had lived through nearly three decades worth of Christmas mornings. He’d had great ones; waking up at the crack of dawn and tearing open presents with his brothers and getting something that he had sworn he always wanted – or since he saw it advertised in a store that September, at least. He’d had plenty of decent ones; when he was older and more at odds with his family, with himself, but they all managed to have a good time, regardless. He had one or two lonely ones, too. The first years he was in Austin, when he couldn’t afford to fly back home, and when he had friends but no one he would ever hang out with on Christmas day itself. Last year he had Nicole, when their relationship was new and their first Christmas spent together felt like a special stepping stone on the road towards _something._

Michael thought for sure that this Christmas was going to be the worst one he’d ever had. Not to be dramatic, but with no friends or family around, nursing a very recent breakup, he wasn’t expecting to have any memories worth keeping.

He woke up drowsily, with an ache in the right side of his neck, and when Michael focused he realized it was because his head had been on Ryan’s chest the whole night.

The goofy smile slowly growing on his face was probably reminiscent of the Christmas morning revelations of his childhood. Minus the naked man in his bed, of course.

Michael pulled himself upwards, yawned, and looked over at Ryan, sprawled on his back, one arm off the bed and the other still draped over Michael’s hip. He was definitely at peace with his spot on the bed, and Michael had half a mind to just lie back down and go back to sleep next to him. Except his bladder was cramping up. And he could feel the dried sweat on his skin when he so much as shifted.

Bathroom first, then. Michael slowly rose out of the bed, sliding onto the cold wooden floor and tugging the blanket up to Ryan’s neck before the sleeping man could register the lack of heat and wake up.

It was probably seven in the morning – sun was just starting to shine through the curtains, and Michael made his way around the bed, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt that he had discarded on the floor last night. He grabbed his shower bag and his toothbrush and crept out of the room.

The hallway was empty, and Michael couldn’t hear any chatter drifting from downstairs. The sound of the shower turning on seemed louder than usual, but the way it warmed up his skin and forced him into wakefulness was all that mattered in his mind. He could feel the ache in his muscles as he washed up, and he felt a few of the love bites Ryan had given him last night. He curiously pressed a fingertip against one at his collar, getting a dull pain in response. Old and familiar. The remnants of being loved thoroughly, at least for a brief period of time.

He dried off and slipped back into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and snuck back into the bedroom. His hair was still damp, so he’d probably wake Ryan up if he settled right against his body, but he could still stay close, watch the other man sleep for a while until he woke up.

Except, when Michael opened the door, Ryan was already awake.

Awake and slipping on his clothes from the night before, slow and methodical. He looked up at the younger man, and Michael’s hand tightened around the doorknob.

“Hey,” Michael said awkwardly. “Um.” He resisted the urge to wish Ryan a Merry Christmas.

Ryan blinked. “Thought you went to get breakfast, or something.”

“No, um. Just woke up. Kind of felt like a shower was needed.” He stepped into the room and put his stuff down on the bureau. “Do you, uh... You heading out?”

“I mean, I can, if you want me to.” Ryan slowly relaxed. “I woke up and you were gone. I figured that was you trying to tell me to leave.” He smiled, shyly. “Guess that wasn’t the case, then?”

“No, no – not even close. Here,” Michael shut the door and walked towards Ryan, stopping right in front of him. Ryan was staying. Good. Great. It was just a minor confusion, but he couldn’t help but feel the remnants of awkwardness cling to him. His hands hovered uncertainly over Ryan’s shoulders, just like last night, not sure when or if he could touch.

Ryan, however, wasn’t nearly as bothered, and after a moment of staring, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Michael’s middle, forcing Michael to step forward between his legs in a strange hug. Ryan pressed his face against the fabric of his t-shirt and Michael did the only natural, normal thing he could think of: he put his arms around the other’s shoulders, relishing in the contact and letting out a content sigh.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Ryan said into Michael’s stomach, the rumble of his voice and the slight absurdity of their position making Michael chuckle, and run a hand through the other’s hair. “So should we get dressed?” Ryan continued. “Is anyone else awake?”

“Not that I could tell. No sign of breakfast downstairs, either. You hungry?” Ryan shrugged beneath his hands.

“I guess, but not really. Just need some water.” He felt Ryan move to stand up, and Michael reluctantly pulled away, watching him head to the door. “I’ll be right back, promise.”

“I’ll try not to disappear in the meantime,” Michael replied, giving Ryan a smile. The other man returned it and stepped out into the hall.

When the door softly shut again, Michael wasted no time in flopping onto the bed, spreading out obnoxiously. So. They were really doing this. Spending Christmas together as... whatever they were. Of course, maybe at some point they’d get breakfast and Ryan would go back to his room and that would be it, but Michael didn’t get that feeling. Maybe they could work in another round or two, actually. Since they were spending the whole day together, and Ryan said he had taken all the photos he needed, there really was no reason for them to leave Michael’s room aside from the occasional excursion to the bathroom or the kitchen. God, with the whole day open, all the things they could get to… He bit his lip at the thought, before frowning in consideration. He was probably getting ahead of himself.

He still had to subtly adjust himself through his pants, anyway. You could get acclimated to a lack of sex, but once it got reintroduced it was way harder to go back. Especially when it was as good as it had been last night.

Shaking his head to get rid of any flashbacks, he stretched his arms out and reached for his phone. He flicked through his notifications – email ads from stores, a few messages on Facebook, a few more via text from his family and friends. Nothing from Nicole. Thank God. With that putting his mind at ease, he put his phone back on the nightstand and put his face into the pillows, groaning into the softness.

He zoned out for a few minutes, eyes closed, trying not to think of anything. When he felt a hand on his lower back he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” Ryan asked quietly. Michael rolled over to face him, stretching again.

“Nah,” he said, relaxing back into the mattress.

“Nah?” He got on the bed, resting on his side next to him. Ryan ran his forefinger in gentle patterns along the strip of exposed skin between Michael’s shirt and pants. It kind of tickled, and he shivered in response.

“I was just thinking.”

“Oh really? About what?”

“Just…” Michael’s eyes tracked across Ryan’s face – calm, happy, still a little sleepy. “Just us. Together. Last night.” He raised an arm up and cupped Ryan’s jaw, running a thumb appreciatively over his beard. “Or, sorry. Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Ryan said, propping his head up with his other hand, body curled towards Michael’s. “I think I still am, too.”

“You mean you don’t just go out and get dick every Christmas Eve?”

“No, never. I usually just… spend it alone. Sometimes I see my parents the day of for dinner or something.” He shrugged. “After I went to college it stopped being a thing.”

Michael frowned at the mental image of Ryan all by himself for the holidays. “That’s kind of sad.”

Ryan laughed. “Yeah it is, and I don’t think I really noticed it until I met you. Under all the commercialized crap, this season is kind of nice, in its own way.”

“Well, I’m glad I was able to make you realize you were living in ignorant bliss and totally ruined you for future, potentially lonely Christmases…?”

“I mean, I’m happy about it.”

“Oh. Okay, you’re welcome. Let me know if you want me to ruin other stuff for you.”

“Sure.”

Michael smiled, though it felt a little more bashful. He never did ask Ryan about what he did during the holiday, if he even celebrated it – he thought it was a bit strange that he was working before Christmas, but the way Ryan explained it followed the same pseudo-logic that Michael’s own decision to go on vacation did, and he had dropped it. If he had known that Ryan didn’t really ‘do’ Christmas – and that he actually missed it – he probably would have been tempted to do something more for him.

“I should’ve gotten you a present.” Michael said, sliding his gaze over to the little wrapped box on the dresser. “God, did you want a present? Did I completely drop the ball on that?”

“Michael, we met on Monday.”

“You got _me_ a present!”

“Trust me, it’s nothing that great. It cost like twelve bucks. I spent more time trying to find a store that was open in one of the small towns around here yesterday than actually putting it together.”

Michael’s eyes widened and he started to rise up into a sitting position, staring at the gift. “You mean you _made_ it, with your hands.”

“That’s being generous –”

“And that’s why you were out all fucking day Christmas Eve? You were trying to find a fucking store that was open?!”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“It is! What the fuck, Ryan, that’s so – you didn’t have to –” Michael struggled to slide off the bed to get his hands on the gift, only for Ryan to haphazardly wrap his arms around him and push him onto his back on the bed. Michael tried to struggle, but Ryan straddled him, using his weight to put a swift end to that. “Ryan!” Michael protested, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“Michael!” Ryan answered, a grin splitting his face.

He eventually managed to pull his arms free from the other’s grip – not that it would do any good, he was still pinned, and no amount of shoving at Ryan’s chest would change that. With some reluctance, he crossed his arms. “What?”

Ryan sighed in an overly dramatic way. “It’s fine. I wanted to do something for you, okay? I knew you just got dumped, and you definitely didn’t seem happy about spending the holidays by yourself, so I just thought…” Ryan’s hand came up, brushing along Michael’s cheek. “There’s no reason for you to freak out about it.”

Michael looked up at the other man. “But _you_ were gonna spend Christmas up here, alone and working.”

“But I didn’t! ‘Cause I met you – see? Even more of a reason to get you something. You keeping me company while I took my photos is gift enough for me, promise.”

“I –” Michael couldn’t really think of anything else to say – nothing that Ryan wouldn’t easily shut down. Instead he wrapped his arms around Ryan’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Fine,” he conceded, once they broke apart.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Ryan said.

Catching an opening where he saw one, Michael’s hands immediately went to Ryan’s ass. “This butt?”

“Oh my God,” Ryan leaned down, laughing into Michael’s shoulder. After a minute, he lifted his head up again. “Did you want to open it?”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty comfortable right here,” Michael said, his mouth starting to curl up.

“Yeah?” Ryan kissed Michael this time, then started slowly trailing kisses down the other’s jawline, neck, before nipping at the base of his throat.

“Uh, _fuck_ yeah, actually,” Michael murmured, hands running up Ryan’s back and into his hair. It was still soft and a weird, not blond not brown color, and Michael could have probably thought about what hue it really was until he felt Ryan’s fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants, eagerly trying to tug them down. “Oh, this is what’s happening?”

Ryan lifted his mouth from Michael’s collarbone, meeting his eyes. “Oh – were we not? I kind of got the impression –”

“Oh my God, you nerd, yes, please continue. I’m looking forward to getting pounded into the mattress by you again.”

“Well, you don’t have to get all ad hominin attacky about it,” Ryan complained, though by the time he finished his sentence, Michael was naked from the waist down and trying not to laugh from the other’s comment.

“You have such a way with words,” he said, struggling out of his shirt before tossing it to the ground. He slipped his hands underneath Ryan’s sweatpants, grinning when he felt a lack of underwear there. “Going commando?”

Ryan flushed. “I may have forewent underwear in the hopes that we’d be doing this again soon. Allegedly.” Michael’s smile morphed into him biting his lip, fingers curling around Ryan’s shaft and dragging it out of its confines. God, Ryan was big. And thick. And – “So pretty,” Michael complimented, lazily stroking his cock and looking into Ryan’s eyes. He could tell the older man wanted to shy away, self-consciously curl up and hide himself. Michael wasn’t exactly championing himself around either, so he could understand the almost instinctual urge to cover up, but, Jesus. Why would Ryan ever want to do that? “Ryan, you look so good – every inch of you. What am I gonna do with you?”

Ryan’s sucked in a breath through his nose, hands gently exploring Michael’s chest, sides, arms. “Anything you want,” he breathed out, cock already hard and pulsing in Michael’s grip. “Anything…”

“Fuck, where’d we put the lube and stuff –” Michael shifted up to look towards the nightstand, only for Ryan to practically leap off of him, coming back with a condom and lube bottle some seconds later. Michael sat up, anyway. He took the condom from between Ryan’s fingers, putting it up by the corner of the mattress instead. He laid back down and worked off his pants, tossing them back to the floor. He spread his legs wider, Ryan’s eyes dark as he watched and got his fingers slick.

Michael was panting, heart thumping hard in his chest, and he was fucking ready for this, already, again. He needed it.

Ryan leaned forward, pressing a wet and lingering kiss to Michael’s mouth. He swiped his thumb over Michael’s entrance until the younger man was squirming before he slipped a digit inside, forcing a gasp from Michael and encouraging him to push a second finger inside. “Like that?” he asked. And Michael did –

He _did._ Just. He hadn’t been fucked in a _while._ He debated whether or not he could tough it out; Ryan was big, but he wasn’t rough last night. Even if he was sore, maybe if they went really slow – “Michael?”

Michael blinked a few times, looked up at Ryan. “Are you okay?” the other asked. When Michael didn’t jump to reassure him, Ryan drew his hand away and Michael let out a sigh.

“Uh, I’m kinda sore,” he admitted, starting to sit up again. “Sorry, I’m usually –”

Ryan held up his hands. “Don’t apologize, you said it’d been ages since you had something inside you, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like I won’t be able to sit afterwards or anything. Maybe later tonight…?” Ryan pursed his lips.

“I mean, we can try later if you want, sure. But don’t think that you have to force it or anything. I really don’t mind, there’s more to fucking than just, uh, traditional fucking.” He glanced down, running his hands up and down Michael’s thighs. “That being said, if you’re not opposed to switching…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Even with his head bowed, Michael could still see the small, slightly nervous smile on Ryan’s face.

“I mean, only if you’re into that.”

Michael felt a flush slowly spread up across his face. He hadn’t even thought about fucking Ryan before now, but he was definitely enjoying the picture it brought to his mind’s eye. “Oh, I’m into it.” He sat up, pressing a rough kiss to the other’s lips. “Why don’t you lay down and we can get started?”

Ryan seemed comfortable on his stomach, and Michael quickly kneeled between his legs, putting the bottle of lube just outside of Ryan’s left thigh. “So,” he began quietly, leaning over Ryan’s body and running his hands from his shoulder blades down to the swell of his ass, “Anything you want to tell me before we start?”

Ryan drew his arms up and folded them under his head. “Not really,” he said with a shrug. “Slow and steady, I guess. At least to start off with.”

Michael nodded to himself and spread Ryan’s cheeks apart with one hand, getting the bottle with the other. “Mm, that I can do.” He let a generous amount of slick slip down Ryan’s crack, over his hole, before coating two fingers. He teased his forefinger around Ryan’s entrance before carefully slipping inside; the other’s hips twitched, pressing further into the mattress before relaxing when Michael had sunk halfway in, but that was it. “Feel okay?”

“Great.” Ryan seemed less cheeky and talkative when he was face down and getting fucked open by some fingers, but Michael was focused on prepping Ryan right – and listening to every stray sigh, gasp, and groan that slipped from the other man’s mouth.

After a few minutes of thrusting one, then two, then finally three fingers in and out of Ryan’s hole, the older man trembled and looked pleadingly over his shoulder at Michael. “You ready?” he asked, only getting a nod from the other. Michael pulled out, wiped his fingers on the sheets before he rolled on a condom, adding extra lube to that, as well.

Michael had one hand on Ryan’s hip, the other on his ass, as he nudged his cock against his entrance and pushed inside. “Fuck, Ryan…” There was something entrancing, almost, watching Ryan take him in, slow but certain, undeniable that he was sinking into the other. Michael flicked his eyes up and noticed that Ryan’s spine had grown tense in the last minute, and he took away the hand on his ass, running it along his back, already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “You good?” he asked.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Ryan’s voice was higher than normal, and he could see a flush on the back of the other’s neck, but Michael believed him, and he was all the way inside Ryan soon enough. He kissed along his back as a reward before rocking into him.

True to his word he was careful at first, shifting his hips in a dirty, slow grind. Ryan relaxed under the touch, and Michael couldn’t help but wonder how good it would feel to go slow – really slow with the other man, where the real pleasure came just from being so close to one another more than anything else. The way two people made love after they knew each other like the back of their hand, when they were together for a really long time – Michael shook the fantasy away; that wasn’t going to happen.

He pulled out nearly all the way and snapped his hips forward – Ryan let out a raw groan, body trying to follow Michael’s.

It wasn’t going to happen, but he was going to make sure Ryan didn’t forget him any time soon.

Michael kept up the pace – it wasn’t hard enough to be punishing, but it wasn’t gentle, either; sharp strokes that had Ryan grunting and clenching around Michael, hands grasping and holding the sheets for purchase that he couldn’t seem to get.

“You feel so good,” Michael panted; he couldn’t quite kiss Ryan’s neck from where he was, so he settled for his shoulder, then darted down and pressed his mouth along the knobs of his spine. One hand ran up Ryan’s arm while the other gripped hard at his hip for balance. “So fuckin’ _tight._ ” At that he felt Ryan clench around him even more, and he couldn’t help but lose it a bit, grunting and throwing his weight and strength into his thrusts.

“Michael –” Whatever Ryan was going to say was cut off with a gasp; Michael’s hips stuttered, worried he was going too hard, too fast, but at the loss of rhythm he felt Ryan eagerly press his hips back against his cock, letting out a high-pitched moan.

“Fuck, you really want this, don’t you?” he mumbled.

“I do,” Ryan said, voice a bit muffled from the pillow. “Fuck, please – come on.” Michael pressed another kiss to Ryan’s spine and continued his thrusts like before, trying to keep his breathing steady as he chased a heavy pulse of desire that was rushing, pooling into the base of his belly. Ryan was big and warm, the way his muscles stretched and moved beneath his skin as he twisted and tightened as he was fucked full was practically hypnotic.

“Can’t – can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Michael managed to say, grinding his teeth from the effort of speaking. “Fuck, what – what am I gonna do with you?” Ryan panted in response, pulling in a sharp breath of air when Michael sunk fully into him, grinding his hips against Ryan’s ass, not wanting to pull out, to lose that tight heat. “We have all day, you know,” he added, “might as well make the most of it.”

“Shit, Michael, yes please. A-Anything you want.” Ryan said, voice pitched low and distracted. Michael swore he heard a drawl in it too, and for some reason, that made his whole body shutter. He picked up his thrusts, reluctant to draw himself out of Ryan for even a second, but the way they both gasped when he fucked back inside was worth it.

“Yeah, yeah, anything I want,” Michael repeated, and then he was coming, stumbling over his orgasm – he bit hard at Ryan’s shoulder, because otherwise he knew he was going to scream. Ryan just whimpered against him, a hand clumsily reaching behind him to pat at Michael’s hip. He stayed like that for a while, kissing over the spot he had just bitten, listening to Ryan try to catch his breath, occasionally letting out reverent murmurs of his name.

Gingerly, Michael sat up, slipping out of Ryan as he straightened. Ryan turned onto his back as Michael tied off the condom and tossed it. He was still between Ryan’s legs, the other still hard. Without even thinking, Michael shuffled down the bed and leaned over, taking half of Ryan’s length into his mouth.

Ryan gasped his name again, legs twitching up and a hand immediately threading through his hair. Michael could taste precome on his tongue – he had to be close after grinding against the mattress for so long. The weight and heat of Ryan’s cock on his tongue was its own kind of mesmerizing, and Michael threw himself into it, wanting nothing more than to make Ryan feel good, again and again and again. Even when Ryan pulled his hair, and Michael had to press his hips into the mattress so he wouldn’t choke. Every time he glanced up and caught sight of the other’s flushed face, red lips, and glazed over eyes, _fuck_. Michael would happily do this any day of the week.

“Michael, _fuck, Michael,_ ” Ryan hissed out, biting the knuckle of his hand. Michael felt his cock pulse in his mouth and swallowed until Ryan’s head slip further into his mouth. He could feel Ryan come down his throat, the other man’s whole body going tense with pleasure. By the time he pulled his mouth off, wiping away a mix of come and spit with the back of his hand, they were both breathing hard again. Michael didn’t bother to lay down near the top of the bed, too exhausted to do more than rest his head on Ryan’s stomach, eyes drifting closed when the hand that had once been tugging at his hair soothed the sweat-damp curls from his forehead. Michael’s head rose and fell as Ryan’s breathing got back under control.        

“Fuck,” Ryan said, after a few minutes of silence. “Fuck, Michael.”

Michael turned, pressed a kiss next to Ryan’s belly button. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Michael chuckled, and Ryan had an answering laugh. They lapsed into silence again for some time, quietly existing together.

Michael blinked himself out of his reverie with a thought. He glanced up. “Hey Ryan? I forgot to say it before, but Merry Christmas.” Ryan just put an arm over his eyes and laughed.


	9. Sunday, December 25th (part two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is here!! A little later than I had wanted, but what can I say? The holidays are... very very busy. And I can't quite kick a cold that's been going around. Luckily the next two chapters are already pretty much done, so the next few updates should be much faster! :)

They came downstairs after they showered; not together, unfortunately. Ryan was wearing a slate gray turtleneck and jeans that were slightly tighter than what he had worn when they were out hiking together. Michael had a very intense internal argument with himself on whether or not making Ryan come undone in those clothes was worth missing Christmas dinner or not, but in the end the reminder of Geoff’s amazing cooking – and his rumbling stomach – made his decision for him.

“Should we, uh, go down separately?” Ryan asked, standing by the top of the stairs.

“Do you wanna? I mean Geoff would probably be surprised if he found out that we only got around to banging yesterday.” Ryan laughed.

"Okay, fine. As if everyone else here isn’t already banging on a regular basis, anyway.” They fell into step with each other and went down the staircase together.

At some point last night or that morning, two long tables had been pushed together in the center of the living room, the couches against the walls. The tables were covered in white cloth with china set out, and an almost humorous amount of food set out in the center: A golden brown turkey, a honey roasted ham; stuffing; mashed potatoes; roasted green beans and collard greens, and further into the kitchen Michael could smell pie.

“Holy shit,” Ryan murmured.

Michael nodded in agreement. He subtly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

Everyone else was sitting, aside from Geoff and Griffon, who he could hear in the kitchen. The food hadn’t been served yet, either, so they obviously weren’t that late. Burnie, Ashley, Jack, Caiti, Aaron, and Barbara all greeted them with a cheerful echo of ‘Merry Christmas!’ before going back to their conversations. Ryan made for a seat near the head of the table, and Michael followed.

“I’m gonna see if they need anything,” Michael said, jutting his thumb back to the kitchen.

Ryan started to rise out of his chair. “Oh, want me to come with?” 

"Nah. They’ll probably just tell me to get out of the way and sit back down. Want anything to drink? Diet Coke?”

“Yeah – hey, can you make me more hot chocolate when we get dessert?” Michael tried to tone his blinding grin down a few notches into a regular smile.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

He wandered into the kitchen, watching Geoff ladle gravy into their servers and Griffon pour what looked like spiced cider into a pitcher. “Merry Christmas,” he said in greeting. Griffon turned around and gave him an impressively tight hug.

“I haven’t seen you at all! Some friend you are,” she said breezily. “But Merry Christmas, anyway.”

“Hey, Merry Christmas,” Geoff hugged him next, also dramatically overdoing it and making Michael laugh as he pretended to choke from lack of air. “How’s your boyfriend?”

"He’s not my boyfriend,” Michael said, too unbothered to care. Amazing sex will do that to a person. “But he’s doing just fine.”

"You mean Ryan, right?” Griffon asked. “He’s sweet, isn’t he? Really talented, too.”

“I bet,” Geoff muttered, turning back to the gravy. Griffon gave Michael a sympathetic look.

“Is there anything I can help you guys with?”

“We’re pretty much set, actually,” Griffon said. “Maybe take this and put it on the table?” She held out the filled pitcher.

“Sure, no problem.” He stopped by the fridge to pull out a Diet Coke – he saw Geoff staring at him while he did it – and walked back out into the main room, dispensing both drinks on the table. He poured some cider for himself and sank into his chair with a sigh. A collection of chatter met his ears, and it wasn’t long before he was getting pulled into conversations with Jack and Barbara. Talks about weather, Texas versus Canada, Barbara contrasting Christmas with Hanukah.

“Is it weird to be here during Christmas then?” Michael asked. Barbara just shrugged.

“Not really. It’s no more Christmas-y than every other part of the country this time of year. I’m just glad I didn’t have to cook anything.”

“Me too,” Jack agreed.

“Yeah, okay, me three,” Michael said. “That’s what really matters – making other people do the work.”

Not long after that, Geoff and Griffon put the last dishes on the table and started passing around the huge platters of food. Michael wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to fit everything on his plate. It was a clutter of delicious colors – green, red, orange, white. As soon as everyone finished serving themselves, Geoff tapped a fork on his glass.

“Okay, well,” he glanced at Griffon. “We’re not uh, the pray before we eat type. So let’s just toast to –”

“How thankful we are that two very talented people decided to host us,” Burnie interjected, raising his glass.

“And that we didn’t have to do shit,” Jack concluded, making Barbara and Michael snort.

“Yeah, sure, that.” Geoff said. The sound of glasses tapping each other filled the air, and everyone tucked in.

Michael had to work on not moaning as soon as he took a bite of his food. Aside from the stray compliment to the chefs, everyone went quiet for a few minutes, too busy eating to do anything else. The turkey wasn’t a dried out husk, and everything was brimming with flavor, biscuits and mashed potatoes buttery and warm, the gravy mouth-watering. It was perfect.

The dinner passed easily, between stuffing himself and making small talk. He had to lean forward to pick up on whatever anecdote Geoff was spouting at the time, usually helped along by Jack or Griffon or Burnie – one of whom always remembered _that_ party or _that_ night out as completely different than Geoff’s personal account. Through it all, he couldn’t help but meet Ryan’s eye, who was occupied on his side of the table. Sometimes he swore Ryan threw a hint of a smile at him, or his eyes brightened just a shade when he glanced over, but he couldn’t be sure. And with Geoff at the head of the table, Michael was dimly aware of the very real possibility that he would air his dirty laundry in public, outright asking if he and Ryan had fucked yet, or something. Geoff could be a real dick when he wanted to be; usually it was funny, and matched pretty well with Michael’s brand of humor. But not today. Not right now. He just wanted to eat his food, enjoy the company, and then get back to crowding around Ryan and peeling that tight sweater off his body –

“So Michael,” Geoff started. “Or Ryan, I guess I should ask Ryan. How’d those pictures come out?” It wasn’t a bad question. It wasn’t even an invasive one, but Michael’s neck prickled and heated all the same. “Michael was just your personal Sherpa or something.”

Ryan just laughed, not seeming bothered by how razor thin of a line Geoff’s decency could be. “It came out really well; I think the museum’s going to like it, at least.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one happiest with it, since they’re your pictures?” Burnie asked.

Ryan lifted a shoulder, drinking his soda. “I mean. The museum is paying me, so I think they’re more important to impress. It was a commission and everything.”

“So where is the exhibit staying in the one museum, or –” Ryan launched into his spiel, listing off information like it was as easy as breathing in between the sentences. It was strange, the way Michael’s chest grew light and expanded with praise. It wasn’t _his_ project or anything. And it wasn’t like he had assisted Ryan in any way besides keeping him company. And helping him to find that shed their first day out, and preventing him from a potentially nasty fall down a slope.  But even so. It wasn’t like Ryan was his – well. His, at all. It wasn’t like Ryan was his.

He finished his cider, the thick sweetness lingering in his mouth, sticking to his lips. He listened with half an ear to Ryan as he finished his food.

“And I know it’s planning to stay in that museum for a few months, until the spring. Last I heard the museum was reaching out to other places that would want to exhibit the collection. It’d be cool if it got up to New York City or Boston, or something.”

“New York’s where the art is, isn’t it?” Michael supplied. Ryan looked at him.

“Well – there’s a lot of museums there,” Ryan admitted. “And auction houses. But there’s art everywhere, if you know where to look.”

“I think you’ve got a better knack for that than I do,” Michael rasped out. Ryan’s little mouth tilt made him swallow thickly.

“I mean, your eyes did help me find that cottage the first day out, right? You’ve got all the utilitarian skills set up.”

“Maybe,” Michael chuckled, busying himself by trying to reach for the pitcher of cider.

In the quiet that passed, Burnie spoke up: “What’s the best gallery you’ve ever been to?” He and Ashley were primed to share their own stories – Michael had picked up on the fact that the couple was often travelling to extravagant places. He took a sip of his drink, still happy to listen to Ryan talk about anything, even if he didn’t recognize any of the names of the places or the artists, it didn’t seem to matter to him. Just seeing Ryan prattle on to someone else was enough for him.

Despite Geoff’s protests, Michael started to help clear the table not long after, carrying dirty dishes into the kitchen and loading them into the dish washer. He looked up to find Griffon smiling at him, shoving a few large pots into the sink and filling it with soapy water. “Thanks, Michael.”

“No problem. Do you guys think you’ll have a lot of leftovers?”

“Hah, you wish. Maybe enough for a couple midnight snacks and turkey sandwiches tomorrow. You all devoured it.” He shrugged.

“It was good!”

“Just you wait till dessert.”

“Oh, shit, I totally forgot about that. Watch out for Ryan. He’s got a real bad sweet tooth. He wanted me to make hot chocolate, on top of everything else.” Michael rinsed his hands, rubbing them clean on a dish towel as Griffon started the dish washer and started to scrub at a few pots that couldn’t make it into the machine.

“I could go on and interrogate you about him,” she started, giving him a pointed look, “but Geoff is probably gonna do that in his own time, so I’ll let you be.”

“Huh. Thanks, I guess.”

 

-

 

Michael was right, Ryan went crazy for the pumpkin pie, and the cheesecake, and the homemade fudge that was laid out on the table an hour later. And the hot chocolate, of course. He was far from the only one - everything was pretty much demolished in record time between the ten people at the table, the room left smelling like coffee and chocolate, empty cups and plates littering the table.

“That was so good,” Ashley supplied, to a chorus of agreements.

“I need to get up,” Barbara said, starting to stand. “Aaron, do you want to take a walk with me?” Her boyfriend groaned, but surprisingly, Burnie and Caiti both started to get up.

“I wouldn’t mind doing a lap,” he said. "Might as well go now, before it gets too dark."

“Yeah, good idea. We’ll come with you.” Soon enough, only Jack, Ryan, and Aaron stayed behind with Geoff and Griffon. Michael watched the other four were pulling on their coats and boots, waving at everyone else and stepping outside. A brief chill swept into the lodge as the door shut behind them, and Michael shivered.

“Yeah, no thanks,” he mumbled, getting up and heading to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. “I’m fine in here, where it’s warm.”

“Yeah…” Ryan started, before perking up. “Oh, but you know what? I still need to take some pictures around the outside of the lodge. It’s so pretty here, but it wasn’t work related so I didn’t think too much on it.” He turned to Geoff and Griffon. “Do you mind? Since it is your property and all… I can show you any shots I have, if you like them I can email them to you guys if you wanted to use them or something.”

“That’d be super cool of you, yeah.” Griffon said, as Geoff perked up and went, “I wasn’t going to stop you.”

“Great! Thank you so much. I’ll be right back.” Ryan gave him one of his usual bright smiles and walked back upstairs, ostensibly to get his camera. Michael watched him go, and when he turned back Geoff was again very pointedly looking at him.

“So,” Geoff started, following him into the kitchen.

“ _What,_ ”

“Nothin’.”

Michael refilled his cup, letting it warm his hands. He leaned against the counter. “You can’t corner me and give me that look and then say there’s nothing you want to talk about.”

“Okay, well, wanna talk about you and Ryan?”

He gingerly took a sip of the coffee. “Not really.”

“He’s just – wait. You did bang right?” Michael glanced over Geoff’s shoulder, making sure everyone else in the main room wasn’t spying on him. He held up two fingers, taking another pull of his coffee. “I knew it!” Geoff hissed.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a Christmas miracle. What’s your point?”

“Well… what’s gonna happen, you know, after?”

“I don’t know. Am I supposed to know?”

“Well, _no,_ you just… really seem to like him.”

Michael bit the inside of his cheek. “I do. But that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, it doesn’t _have_ to mean anything more than – that I like him.”

"No, it doesn’t, but it could.” He rubbed his beard. “It should, I think.”

"Geoff,” Michael said warningly. He somehow felt like he was talking to a combination of Gavin and his mother. “I appreciate the concern, but it’d be a long distance relationship, and, I don’t know. I don’t want to – Nicole and I _did_ just break up.”

"Could’ve fooled me,” Geoff said. Michael lightly kicked at his shin.

"Do you want me to wallow in self-loathing for a week? Let me heal or, or whatever.”

"You know what could help you heal? Ryan’s huge –”

"Hey!” Ryan stepped through the threshold. He was holding up his camera. “Think you can brave the cold for twenty minutes?”

Michael very carefully set his coffee cup on the counter. “For you? Sure thing. Let’s go.”

Ryan seemed to notice he and Geoff were in the middle of a conversation. “Oh, I don’t want to interrupt –”

“ _Let’s go,_ ” he said with increased urgency. “Right now.” He moved past Geoff and followed Ryan to the door, shoving himself into his coat and boots before Geoff decided to do something tasteless. He practically fell out of the door, kicking snow in his path as he finished knotting his scarf. As was their custom, he fell into step behind Ryan, stepping in his footprints and watching the other examine the world through his camera’s view finder.

“You and Geoff get into some argument?”

“Nah, he was just busting my balls, or whatever. Like I knew he would.” He shrugged when Ryan gave him a concerned look. “It’s just how he is, it’s fine.”

“Well, I’m glad I could save you, I guess.”

Michael barked out a laugh. “Me too.”

There were fresh boot prints in the snow, though Michael couldn’t see where Burnie, Ashley, and the rest of the group had ventured off to. Somewhere lost in the trees, he supposed. He and Ryan weren’t travelling so far, literally just getting establishing shots of the building they had stayed in for the past week. Michael had to squint up at the impressive structure, the dark wood beams of the lodge cutting into the pale sky and black, snow covered tree limbs.

“So,” Michael started. “Have you had a good Christmas?”

Ryan took a series of shots before glancing back at Michael. “Yeah, so far.”

"So far?"

“Well there’s a few more hours isn’t there? What about you?”

"So far.” Ryan shook his head, grin cutting into his features. “It’s pretty out here,” he supplied, after a moment of silence. “I’m not used to admiring nature in the winter. Usually it’s too cold to stay out and bother. Guess you’re right about there being beauty everywhere.”

"See? You’re getting an eye for it already.”

Michael’s retort was stopped when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he saw he was getting a call. “Oh, hold on,” he said, excusing himself. He tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Hey mom,” he said, ambling at a farther distance Ryan as he carried on taking pictures. “Merry Christmas.”

_"Merry Christmas to you, too. I know I texted you, but it’s just not the same.”_

"Yeah, yeah, I understand. How are you? How’s it going over there?” Michael could distantly hear what sounded like something sizzling, and pots and pans clanking together as his mother moved around.

_"Good, fine. I pulled both your sister in laws in to help me with the dinner,”_

“Are they up to your usual standards?”

" _They’re… okay.”_ He heard laughs on the other end and smiled himself. _“Nothing is burnt, at least. Did you eat yet?”_

"Yeah, it was great. Geoff – you remember, the guy who owns the place? Yeah, he could be a chef, I think. It’s that fuckin’ good.” Ryan disappeared around the corner, and Michael walked back towards the deck of the building, carefully going up the steps and leaning against the railing. His mom went on, talking about his nieces and nephews that were coming over, what she had gotten them for Christmas. A few minutes later Ryan reappeared from the other side of the lodge. Michael waved at him and the other man meandered up the stairs, leaning against the railing himself. Michael looked at him, raising his eyebrows in silent acknowledgement. The other was fiddling with his camera, but overall seemed happy with the shots he had taken.

 _"So you two are having fun up there?”_ Michael almost didn’t catch it, but when he did, it felt like a stone dropped into his stomach. He swallowed, gaze resolutely fixed on Ryan’s.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, we’re having a good time together.” Ryan offered him a smile, and Michael returned it.

_"Did Nicole get you anything for Christmas?”_

He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Well, uh, we figured that the lodge was kind of, its own thing… I did get a little something though, haven’t opened it yet.” Michael couldn’t tell if this was a good idea or just stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. Ryan was still looking at him, probably curious about whatever it was Michael’s mom was saying on her end. He turned on his heel so he didn’t meet his line of sight.

_"Oh, that’s sweet. It’s too bad you two couldn’t have come this year.”_

"Yeah, I know. I promise we can visit soon. Or at least I can.”

_"Oh, let her visit. I only met her once and you two have been dating for ages now.”_

“Living in different states complicates things,” Michael argued. God, wasn’t that the fucking truth. He nearly jumped when he felt Ryan’s hand reach out, covering his hand with his own where it had been resting on the railing. The other man’s hand was much warmer than his own, and his smile grew soft as he looked at the trees. “I’ll see what happens in the next couple months, okay?” he placated, not sure who exactly his words were directed to.

" _I’ll hold you to it,”_ his mother answered. There was a loud _bang!_ on her end, and she cursed under her breath. _“Alright, alright, disaster struck with one of your cousins, I need to go. Love you, Michael. You and Nicole have a good Christmas, alright? I’ll talk to you later.”_

“Okay, I’ll pass the message along. Love you too. Bye.” He hung up, shoved the phone back into his pocket. “My mom says hi.”

"Are you sure she was saying hi to me?” Ryan asked, a bemused look in his eye.

"Alright, you got me. It was a pain in the ass telling my friends, Geoff, _and_ you about my fucking abysmal love life. Telling my mom would have been the worst thing by far, though. Then everyone in my entire extended family would be calling me and messaging me on Facebook, and she’d try to make me get a plane ticket for tomorrow so she could pity me in person, it’s just –” He waved his hand. “I’m gonna see her after I leave here. I'll tell her then, and until that happens I just..."

Ryan nodded. “That’s fine. I guess it’s not my business, right? I don't blame you for wanting to wait to break the news.” He rubbed his thumb absent-mindedly over the back of Michael’s hand. It was more distracting than it had any right to be.

“I mean, you know,” Michael said, not exactly sure what he meant, himself. “She’d probably get a kick out of you, though. She’d think you were _fancy_ with that high tech camera and everything.” Ryan laughed.

“Older women from New Jersey aren’t my usual demographic, but I’m sure I could manage to charm her.” He stuffed his hands back into his jacket pockets. “My mom would like you too, I imagine.”

“You’re just saying that.” Ryan was impressive, after all. Michael? Decidedly less so.

“No, she would think you were awfully sweet.”

Michael pulled a face. “Why?”

“Because you are. Also you didn’t let me waste away in my room working, which has to be worth a few gold stars in her book.” Michael hummed, looking back out at the wintry landscape before them. The sun was starting to set, the sky going from blue to a dusky pink and gold. Not for the first time that week, he was struck with how temporary the whole situation was, how _they_ were. They’d never get to find out how their families felt about the other, not really. Michael chewed at his bottom lip, wishing he could shake off the downtrodden feeling that had been instilled in him.

Tomorrow Ryan would be gone. And the day after that, he would be back in Austin, trying to ignore his breakup with Nicole, trying to cement Ryan as a pleasant but fleeting memory. Trying to find some new normal as the world moved on around him. He looked back at Ryan, who was still staring at him, eyes blue and shining from the sunlight refracted in the snow. He wondered if Ryan would have to undergo some adjustment period after he had gone back home; if he’d miss Michael a lot, a little, anything at all. “Ryan, when does your plane leave tomorrow?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, like ten thirty in the morning? I’ll probably have to get out of here pretty early.” He scratched at his beard. “Why do you ask?” Michael shrugged.

“Just wondering, I guess. This, uh, this week really flew by, didn’t it?”

“It did. You know what they say about time flying when you’re having fun.”

Michael attempted a smile, glancing away. “Right.”

"Michael,” Ryan started, after a pause, “I – I know it’s, we’re,” He sighed. “We both have lives outside of, all this.” He gestured around them.

"I know,” Michael said. Of course, he’d argue he didn’t have much of a life at the moment, but whatever.

“ _But_ ,” Ryan said pointedly, “I’m… I’m really going to miss you, and being here with you. It’s nice. More than nice. I can’t really think of a good word right now. Um.” Ryan took a step closer, fully invading Michael’s space. He leaned down slightly, and their breaths misted into the air, mingling together before dispersing. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice soft. His nose and cheeks were flush from the cold, and his eyes were still too blue. Michael sucked in a breath.

"Yeah,” he breathed out. Ryan’s fingers were warm as they cradled his face with both hands, and his lips were soft, the kiss chaste and sweet and reassuring. Michael’s hands wandered inside Ryan’s open jacket, hands gripping his waist.

Ryan pulled back, their foreheads resting together. He giggled. “I can feel your hands through my clothes,” he supplied. “You’re freezing.” Michael raised his eyebrows, and deftly slid a hand up the back of Ryan’s sweater, pressing against the warm plane of his back. The older man yelped, springing back and trying to prevent Michael from following. “Stop! Stop! How did your hands get so cold so fast?” Ryan managed to turn and flit a few paces down the deck, leaving Michael behind.

Michael leaned back and cackled, watching as Ryan rubbed his back and zipped his coat up. “Some of us have more body heat than others,” he teased, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“You say that like you’re tiny or something,” Ryan grumbled, edging his way back over, maintaining some distance in case Michael tried to do something funny. “You have muscles, I’ve seen you,” he added, looking at Michael pointedly.

“I don’t know, my blood isn’t lined with sugar crystals from a life of drinking sweet tea? What do you want me to say? I’m cold.” He made a show of shivering, and Ryan crept closer to him again, bumping their shoulders.

“We can go inside then,” he offered. “I can warm you up.”

“Oh, can you now?” Ryan just smiled and waltzed back to the lodge’s entrance. Michael followed, heading inside when Ryan held the door open for him.

 

-

 

Michael gasped against Ryan’s mouth, fingers curling around his arms as the older man carefully pressed him against the door of his bedroom. Michael locked it with a fumbling hand before surging forward, walking the pair of them across the room and pushing him into the arm chair by the window. Ryan sprawled out in the seat, sweater tight across his body.

“I’ve been thinking about taking this off of you since I saw you in it,” Michael murmured, finger tugging at Ryan’s collar.

“So why didn’t you?” He paused.

“Uh, well. Food for one.”

"True."

“And we had just fucked like, not even an hour before. I didn’t want to wear you out.”

“You wouldn’t wear me out,” Ryan protested. “And anyway, it sounds like you’d be doing all the work.”

“Yeah, sure, old man. I can take care of you.” They both dissolved into laughter, hands wandering, touches playful and easy to make. Michael undid Ryan’s belt and opened his jeans, letting Ryan slide them down his hips while he tugged his sweater up under his arms, hands running along the hard-soft-smooth planes of his chest and stomach, curling around his side. He wasn’t thinking, really. No need to plan an attack or try to fit in as many seductive moves as he could. It was just him and Ryan – hadn’t they been doing this all week? Pitching words and looks and touches back and forth, back and forth. Now Michael just wanted the warmth of Ryan’s skin against his, to be mindless for a while, until the inevitable happened and he was left cold again.

His thumb and forefinger circled the fabric along the neck of Ryan’s sweater. When the older man swallowed he felt it against his knuckles and he had the sudden urge to move his hand, enclose it around Ryan’s throat and feel his pulse and breaths in and out, up and down, expand and deflate.

“What are you thinking about?” Ryan asked. Michael had been thinking, but it hadn’t felt like thoughts going through his mind. He met his gaze.

“I want you inside me again,” he murmured. “I think I’m gonna ride you.”

Ryan let out a soft gust of air, Adam’s apple bumping against Michael’s fingers again. “Do you want to? I mean – are you up for it?”

“Won’t know until I’m already there.” He moved his hand away, watching Ryan kick his jeans off the rest of the way and peel the sweater up over his head. Michael stepped back from the chair long enough to toss the lube and remaining condom in Ryan’s lap, shucking out of his clothes lightning fast. He’d been wearing them for too long, and he needed Ryan’s skin against his instead, wanted to be covered by his lips and hands and pulled into his arms – Ryan tugged his wrist until he sat in his lap and he nearly moaned when Ryan’s arms did just that, wrapping around him securely, foreheads pressed together for a moment of peace.

Ryan’s hand was big – wide, too, when it was splayed open and he slid it along the narrowing plane of Michael’s back, over the curve of his ass, fingers curling between his cheeks. Michael bit his lip when one brushed against his hole, and he reached down, uncapping the bottle of lube and turning, letting it drip down onto those waiting fingers. “You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, ‘course. I’m not really into pain.” Michael instinctually tensed when Ryan’s forefinger slid into him. “Keep going,” he added, forcing himself to relax. “I’m fine.” He was actually fine, but Ryan seemed determined to be careful. By the time he was pumping three fingers in and out of him, Michael’s thighs were starting to tremble from the effort of holding himself up above Ryan’s body. He braced himself with one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, the other reaching down to pump Ryan’s cock. Maybe that would encourage Ryan to get on with it. “Come on, come on,” he goaded.

“You ready?”

“I’ve _been_ ready – where’s the, oh, here.” Michael tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, sliding it onto Ryan’s cock with one hand. He shivered as the other drew his fingers out, smearing lube along the rim of his hole.

Biting his lip, he angled himself and slid down on Ryan’s length. Slow and careful, wanting to make sure any residual soreness from that morning had gone away. He found himself seated in Ryan’s lap a minute later, sighing at the familiar fullness he felt with the other’s cock fully inside of him again. “Fuck, this is nice.”

“Just nice?” Ryan teased, breath warm against his face. Michael rolled his eyes.

“Sorry I’m not in the mood to write a sonnet about how good you are at fucking.” Michael snapped, hands scrabbling for purchase along Ryan’s body when the other rolled his hips up in retaliation. “Fuck, _Ryan._ ”

“What?”

“You know damn well _what,_ just keep – or, hang on, lemme just,” Michael couldn’t find the words he wanted, instead he moved up again, rolling his hips and drawing Ryan closer until the older man was gasping against his chest, hands tight on his hips to urge him up and down. “Fuck, like this, perfect, yeah – just like this,” he didn’t know if he was talking to Ryan or himself, but it didn’t matter, the rhythm he had set encouraged by the way Ryan’s own hips moved up, chasing him and pulling him back down with each thrust.

Any chill Michael had felt outside was long forgotten now, Ryan’s body thawing him out. Soon he felt too hot, sweat beading between his shoulder blades and at his temples, dripping down his skin and making him itch to move faster, fucking himself on Ryan’s cock harder than before.

A hand threaded behind his head, bringing him in for a kiss, Ryan’s moans gentle and quiet between their lips. “You’re still so tight,” Ryan murmured, shuttering when Michael sank down and ground against his lap. “God, fuck – _Michael,_ Christ.”

“Close?”

“Maybe,” Ryan panted, flicking his tongue out to wet his lips. His gaze was heavy, blue eyes dark in the dim light of the room. The hand still at Michael’s hip clenched tighter, nearly bruising, and Ryan sighed, head lolling back against the chair, letting Michael take complete control until he came apart a few minutes later, surging forward and gasping into Michael’s shoulder, thrusting weakly into him as he started to come.

Michael reached behind himself with a shaky hand and _fuck,_ he could _feel_ Ryan’s cock pulsing against his fingers, coming deep inside of him. He bit his lip, hips shifting, clenching over and over again to keep Ryan feeling good for as long as he could. He felt teeth scrape at the side of his neck, Ryan going after the vein that was pronounced there from the way he turned his head. “Mark me up,” he gasped out, not even realizing he had spoken until Ryan was laving over that spot on his neck with his tongue and teeth and lips, shivering every time Ryan’s teeth sank deeper than before.

Michael leaned back, hand on Ryan’s knee to brace himself, and Ryan seemed to take that as a silent command for more attention, because then a hand was wrapping around his length, thumb rubbing circles over the head of his cock, wet with precome and throbbing in Ryan’s sure grasp.

Michael’s elbows wanted to buckle, and there was soon sweat on his palms, Ryan’s skin and his skin too slick to keep much grip anymore, and every time Ryan’s teeth found a new spot on his collar or his throat, Michael’s spasms wracked every inch of his muscles and down into his bones; it was as if his whole body just wanted to shutter forward, to give in to Ryan completely.

“Michael,” Ryan whispered, kissing a spot behind his ear as he spoke. Michael didn’t know if he had said anything before or after that, but a rush of dizziness hit him, hearing Ryan say his name, so reverently, so quietly, a secret between them. He couldn’t say _Michael_ like that in public, he might never say it like that again – or he might say it a hundred more times tonight. He squeezed his hand around Ryan’s knee tighter, for support and in answer. “You gonna come for me, Michael?”

“S-Say my name again,” Michael breathed out. He was already sweating, but when he made the demand he felt a renewed heat settle on his face.

“Michael, Michael, Michael,” Ryan crooned, voice vibrating from the low pitch, their closeness, little bumps in his inflection like there was a secret code hidden deeper, in between letters. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, “still taking me so well, want you to come just like this.”

“Ryan,” Michael didn’t know what he wanted. He had to look anywhere but Ryan’s face, but his eyes were drawn straight there.

“Michael,” Ryan answered. Michael read his lips more than heard his voice this time, senses dimming as he came into Ryan’s fist, thrusting up into the slick heat of his curved fingers, panting hard against the mouth that covered his in a burning kiss. “Michael,” A kiss to the corner of his mouth, his jaw. “Michael,” another to the constellation of soon-to-be bruises at his neck.

Ryan leaned them both sideways, grabbing Michael’s shirt from the ground to clean his hand, their stomachs. He wrapped his arms around Michael’s back, tilting again until he slipped out, reaching around Michael’s back to slip and tie the condom off.

Michael fell against his chest, breathing, being pushed and pulled away every time Ryan’s own chest rose and fell. He shut his eyes.

Maybe he had drifted off. He didn’t know, didn’t want to think or observe or _know_ anything. But after some time Ryan roused him, speaking up again. “We should probably get up,” he spoke into Michael’s neck. Michael just whined in response, arms going tight around the other’s neck. “I don’t want to pass out in the chair, do you?”

“I mean,” he yawned, “I’m comfortable.” Michael jolted in surprise when Ryan stood up, holding the back of Michael’s knees and walking a few steps towards the mattress. “Ryan!” Michael yelped. “Don’t you fucking drop me!”

“I’m not gonna drop you,” Ryan soothed, leaning down some before letting go of his legs. Michael was neatly deposited onto the edge of the bed. “There, see?”

Michael hummed in answer, falling onto his back and stretching out on the mattress. Ryan stayed standing, arms crossed, smiling down at him. “You gonna join me?”

“I need to get up early,” Ryan said. “I should go back to my room.” Neither moved. The sweat had cooled on Michael’s body, leaving him cold against the sheets.

A minute passed between them. Ryan put his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Do you want to sleep with me there?” he asked.

“Maybe. Yes.” Ryan was urging him upright again before he could even think about what saying yes had implied – namely, that he’d have to move, to put on clothes, to walk into the hallway. He groaned.

“No, come on, you already said yes,” Ryan said. The words were teasing, but his tone wasn’t. Michael pulled on a t-shirt and slid into a pair of boxers without further complaint. Now that he was up, and watching Ryan put on his outfit that had been scattered on the floor, Michael yawned and went, “might as well brush my teeth and stuff.”

“I’ll meet you in there, then.” Michael grabbed his toothbrush and headed out, washing his hands, splashing water on his face, getting ready for bed. Ryan came in as he was brushing his teeth, and Michael moved past him once he was finished, dropping his stuff off in his room before going to Ryan’s.

It was dark and cold in his room. The lights were off and curtains drawn. He had made his bed too; Michael winced when he slid under the covers, cool sheets making his body shiver.

Ryan came in not long after. “It’s freezing in here,” he complained. Michael watched him strip down bare, then put on some pajamas. Movements utilitarian, not teasing. But even that had a certain charm to it. A suggestion that what they had wasn't just physical; they could coexist together as friends or roommates or lovers. As long as they were together. 

“I’ll warm you up,” Michael said, an echo of earlier. Ryan smiled and dove under the covers, hands immediately reaching for the younger man, drawing him closer. They ended up in nearly the same position as ten minutes ago, quickly warming up beneath the down comforter and between each other. “See? Told you.” Ryan chuckled, pressing a kiss to Michael’s shoulder and entwining their legs.

To Michael, they felt inseparable. Forever safe and warm. Together. Michael’s head ducked down and he breathed against Ryan’s neck, inhaling the way his clothes and skin and hair smelled of the two of them melded.

He wasn't stupid. He knew it wouldn’t last. Tomorrow Ryan would be gone, and the day after that, Michael would be back to his little apartment, probably worse for wear with both Nicole and Ryan on his mind. He might even come to regret what they did. If Nicole was the usual, aching sadness one got from a breakup, Ryan would linger as an unsure possibility. A what if with a million different outcomes. He sighed, and Ryan brushed a hand through his hair, sweet and tender. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. "Nothing," Michael said. "The weather. I don't know." Ryan's nose was buried in his curls. "Thinking about cutting my hair," he kidded. "Don't you dare," Ryan admonished. "What are you gonna do? Stop me?" "Sure, maybe," Ryan said easily, like of course he could. The confident tone in his words made something in Michael's stomach turn. Ryan pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "I wish I stayed a day longer," he admitted, quietly. One of Michael's hands were wrapped around Ryan's back, and his fingers moved over the knobs of Ryan's spine, rubbing small circles into his back. "Me too," Michael whispered. Neither of them could think of what else to say in addition to that. They couldn't seem to say anything but the truth around each other, for better or worse. Well, it didn't matter. The options were already out of their hands. Tomorrow Ryan would leave, that was a fact. But they still held onto each other. And now, he fell asleep in Ryan’s arms and tried hard to not think of anything else.


	10. Monday, December 26th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another update. It's a little shorter, because - well, you'll see.

Ryan’s plane left early. Too early for Geoff to be up to say a proper goodbye and make him breakfast to go. But not too early for Michael, especially considering he got woken up when Ryan’s alarm went off around six in the morning, and he was forced to watch blearily, surrounded by still warm pillows and blankets, while Ryan set his suitcase on the bed and rolled up his clothes and bagged his toiletries, occasionally sending Michael a smile from the foot of the bed.

“You can go back to sleep,” he offered, voice low from having just woken up and not wanting to disturb the quiet of the lodge, the room.

“Nah, I’ll be fine.” And to prove it Michael put his feet down on the frigid wooden floors and stood, and stretched, all against the protests of his cold, mostly naked body. “I’ll be right back, lemme just get dressed.” He went to the door, closing it softly behind him, and walked to his own room, ducking inside long enough to pull on fresh clothes – jeans, a sweater, his mussed up hair hidden under a beanie. He stopped by the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash water on his face until he looked wide awake. When he came out of the bathroom, the hall was still quiet.

His first instinct was to go back to Ryan, their time together was on its last legs, after all. But instead, he crept down the stairs, minding the way his feet sounded on the sections of hardwood floors. He made it to the kitchen and searched through the pantries for a bag of coffee, luckily pre-ground. He grappled with the coffee machine until it started to make the familiar gurgling sounds and he stepped back, opening the fridge. As tempted as he was to give Ryan a big send off breakfast, they didn’t have time, so he settled with a random pick of fruit, and a few leftover doughnuts Geoff had wrapped up and left on the countertop. He already knew Ryan had a sweet tooth a mile wide. He dumped it all on a plate, left the coffee to finish its job, and headed back upstairs.

“I got breakfast,” he murmured, as he walked back into Ryan’s bedroom. The other man was fiddling with his camera, of course, but when he saw Michael he put it in his backpack and zipped it shut. That and a small carry on suitcase laid on the floor by the bed, the room now totally empty of the little pieces of Ryan’s life that he had strewn around over the week.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“Too late. Here,” They sat on the bed, nothing but a table lamp illuminating them. Ryan, predictably, reached for a doughnut, breaking it off into pieces before popping them into his mouth. Michael halfheartedly fiddled with some grapes, pulling them off the vine, trying not to wince at the bitter flavor on his tongue; fruit and toothpaste were never a good combination.

He tried, and failed, to not let the awkwardness seep in. They weren’t talking – Ryan was staring out the window, the only suggestion of a sun appearing at all was the way the sky had turned from pitch black to a dark navy in the last thirty minutes. For all the talking they did on their hikes outside, when everything was still and quiet, he couldn’t think of anything to say here, in the silence of the bedroom.

But that wasn’t right, was it? Michael frowned, swallowing another, still bitter grape. He had thought the two of them had something _more_ between them. Something that meant that he didn’t need to talk to be comfortable with Ryan, but that if he wanted to speak, it would always be so easy. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and Ryan looked back at him, this time reaching for a few grapes of his own.

“These are pretty sour,” he said, continuing to eat them. He held out one for Michael to take. Without really thinking, Michael just opened his mouth, and without really reacting, Ryan fed it to him. “Kind of ruins the sexy vibe of feeding each other if the fruit’s not that good.”

Despite himself, Michael laughed. “Yeah, well, produce is always shitty in the middle of winter.” Ryan nodded, alternating between whatever was left on the plate, Michael helping once in a while, until there was nothing left.

“I kinda miss peaches,” Ryan finally admitted. “And the sun rising before seven twenty.”

“It does make it easier to watch a sunrise, though,” Michael added, rolling the bare grape vine between his fingers. He realized Ryan was watching him. “What?”

“Wanna watch the sunrise with me?” Ryan asked. “I mean, I’m all packed up and there’s nothing else, really –”

“Yeah,” Michael said, grabbing the plate and standing back up. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

The coffee was brewed by the time they got downstairs. Ryan poured them both a cup and nearly got Michael’s cream-to-sugar-to-coffee ratio perfect on the first try. They put on their coats and boots and went outside, Ryan’s luggage and all, and stood on the patio. The sky had since lightened from navy to an oceanic blue, and somewhere, between the trees and the mountain ridges, Michael could spot a yellowish shade of white.

They didn’t say anything for a while. This time, at least, Michael was more preoccupied with sipping his coffee and hunkering down in his jacket like a turtle to be too concerned about their lack of conversation.

“Well,” Ryan began, sometime later. “As far as work related excursions go, this might have been the best one I’ve ever had.”

Michael smiled, staring down at his half empty coffee cup. “I bet you say that to all the newly single guys you see while you’re on those aforementioned excursions.”

“Nah, I mean, no way.” Ryan set his cup on the wooden ledge of the patio and leaned his arms on it. “I’ve never bothered to do this sorta thing at work, and I’ll have you know – Paris, London, and Milan have nothing on you.”

The temperature must have suddenly dropped. That was the only explanation for the heat steadily rising in Michael’s cheeks. “Well, maybe you weren’t doing them right.” Ryan snorted.

“Maybe. I did get mono in Milan.”

“Really?” Ryan wrinkled his nose at the memory.

“Yeah, and Italian hospitals? Not great.”

Michael licked his lips, took a sip of his coffee. “Huh.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say in response. Another pause between them.

Then, “Can I kiss you?”

“You gonna give me mono?”

“That was like, a million years ago. Also if I still had it, pretty sure it’s too late for you now.” Michael laughed.

“Yeah, okay. I guess you didn’t really need to ask anyway, considering…” Ryan shook his head slightly.

“I know, but, I mean. I’m leaving for the airport in, what, twenty minutes?” He checked his watch. “Give or take.”

“All the more reason to kiss me, then,” Michael offered, opening one of his arms to hopefully entice Ryan forward.

It worked. Ryan moved forward, his chest pressed against his, the two of them looking at each other, searching for something, perhaps. Michael had the dawning realization that Ryan felt just as awkward and strange leaving as he did. Maybe that earlier clumsiness in his bedroom came from the pair of them sharing the same thoughts. Even when there was the illusion of being in separate worlds, quiet and uncommunicative, they weren’t so isolated after all. It was relieving and touching at the same time.

They kissed; Ryan predictably smelled like coffee. His fingers brushed along his cheek, ducking down to cup his jaw, and his hand was still so warm despite the cold. Michael couldn’t resist leaning into the touch, wishing they could have been doing this in bed, sharing coffee and kissing and quietly talking until one of them convinced the other to lay back down and doze for a while. He wished Ryan didn’t have anywhere to be, to go.

When they pulled away from each other, a dozen kisses passed between them, the sun was halfway over the horizon, Michael squinting at the insane brightness. Today, the sky was a powdery blue, not the usual overcast that they had been used to.

“Looks like your flight’s not getting cancelled,” he supplied.

“Funny, I had the same thought.” Ryan drained his coffee cup, checked his watch. Michael leaned against the railing, shoulder pressed against Ryan’s. After a few seconds the older man intertwined their fingers together. “Michael,”

“Yeah?”

“It’s – it’s a bad idea, keeping in touch, right? I mean…” Ryan was staring up at the sun. “I want to, but –”

He swallowed. “No, you’re right, it wouldn’t work out. Long distance, I mean,” Michael rushed to agree despite the twisting in his gut. The heart wants what the heart wants, of course, but sometimes the heart was stupid as fuck and totally impractical. He coughed. “Anyway, how could I beat off a bunch of hipster art snobs with a stick if I’m not actually around you all the time?” Ryan chuckled.

“I could say the same about you. Well. Not with art snobs necessarily. But. Most people with a working set of eyes.”

“Always a flatterer.”

Michael could feel Ryan’s hands twitch in Michael’s grip. Michael’s thumb rubbed circles into his skin. “Even if we lived closer,” he started, “You probably want some, uh, time to yourself.”

“You’re still not a rebound,” Michael reminded him neutrally. “But, you’re right. I’m sure there’s plenty of shit I need to work through, anyways.” He looked at both their hands, entangled and solid and warm. Between the glittering snow and the bare trees, they were the only living things around for as far as Michael could see. Alone together. “Uh, Ryan?”

“Mm,”

“I just, uh,” Michael kept staring at their hands. “I just want to say thanks. I was honestly expecting this Christmas to be literally the worst thing ever, whether or not I came up here, and then I met you, and it’s like –” Michael glanced over at Ryan, who was now being cast in shadow by the fully risen sun, and it made Michael’s eyes water took look at him for too long at this angle. “I’m glad we met. Really glad. So, thank you, for everything.”

Ryan let out a little breath, and Michael felt his lips brush against his own. “Now I _really_ wish my flight got cancelled,” he said lightly, but he wasn’t smiling.

Michael slowly, reluctantly, pulled away, glancing at the two bags leaning up against the lodge’s outer wall. “I’ll help you put this stuff in your car,” he said, a process which took way too little time, and soon Ryan was leaning against his truck, the driver’s door open, key in the ignition as his car heated up.

Michael didn’t know what to say, honestly. It seemed Ryan didn’t either, and he glanced between the car and the younger man for a minute before wrapping Michael in a tight, warm hug. “I’m glad we met, too, you know,” he said, voice rumbling by his ear. Michael just squeezed him tighter. “Goodbye, Michael,” Ryan said, when he finally pulled away. “Have a safe flight tomorrow, yeah?”

“I will – and you have a safe flight today. And good luck with – putting together your photographs and, and all that. I’m sure it’ll be amazing. A million galleries will put you on retainer, and shit.” Ryan flashed him a crooked smile as he babbled and, when he had run out of air and things to say, he slipped into his car. “Bye, Rye-bread!” he sing-songed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His toes were starting to get cold again.

Ryan put the truck in drive, slowly going down the snowy road. Michael waved frantically until the red disappeared down a large bend. After a few seconds, the truck reappeared, further down, and Michael could follow its path through the trees, until it was the size of a stamp, then a pinhead, before it disappeared completely.

Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned around, and walked back into the lodge. The building was still quiet – it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet – and Michael only paused to top up his coffee. Ryan’s he put in the sink.

He went up to his room, to go back to bed or shower or something, but any idea he had vanished when he opened the door. As though part of his mind already knew, his eyes tracked the still wrapped present on the dresser. He swallowed, fingers on his free hand flexing a moment.

“Fine,” he said out loud. He shut the door, set down his coffee, and carefully opened the gift.

He saw the polished wood and immediately recognized it as a picture frame. Peeling the wrapping paper back further, he saw that it was one of himself, standing on that mountain he and Ryan had climbed. It was just him, and Michael didn’t know if it was better that way or not. He turned the frame over in his hands, and idly ran his fingernail over the small catches, pulling them up until the back came free. He wasn’t that surprised to see that Ryan had written a short note for him.

 _Michael,_ it started, in a neat, slanted script, _I don’t know if I’m being presumptuous by giving you this, but I didn’t let that stop me. Maybe this is more for me than for you, but I didn’t want you to have nothing when you woke up on Christmas. I know things aren’t easy for you right now, so I just wanted to show some actual, photographic evidence that you can still smile, have fun, not worry about things so much, even now. You gave me a lot of great memories this week. I hope you have a few of your own, too._ _Take care, Ryan._ It was dated Christmas Eve.

Michael sat down on his bed, reading over the note again, again, until his eyes blurred and he couldn’t see much of anything. He blindly put the picture frame back together, rubbing his hands along the wooden corner as he stared out at nothing, knot tight in his throat. He had a short flare of anger shoot up through his stomach – at Ryan for making him feel like this, for compounding his misery – but it quickly cooled, leaving him with an aching feeling that he had been ignoring all week.

No, not ignoring. It had been fixed, with Ryan there. Now he felt like he was back at square one again. He got up, blinking until the tears fell and his vision cleared.

He very carefully put the picture frame face down on the dresser, wiped at his face with his sleeve, and left the room.


	11. Sunday, January 1st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my update wasn't quite as soon as I'd been hoping, but here it is nonetheless!!
> 
> I know it says we only have one more chapter left... but I'm entertaining the idea of an epilogue. What do you guys think? :)

And that had been it. They hadn’t kept in touch – and, now that Michael had enough time to think about it, he didn’t even know where Ryan lived, or if he had a sister, or if he had ever managed to graduate from college, or… a lot of things, really. It was like they had skipped most of the pleasantries that came with getting to know someone and jumped straight into, well. Everything else.

He hung out with Geoff the last two days he was there. Michael was too morose to be great entertainment, but he did owe it to his friend. Geoff was never the most tactful – he didn’t have a lot of tactful friends, honestly – but he did a good job at keeping the questions lacking in substance. Did they fuck again? Yes. Did Ryan take pictures of him while he slept? Not that he knew of.

Questions like: Will you see him again? Do you want to? Was it really more than a rebound? Those, thankfully, never came up.

Ryan, as a person – as an experience, didn’t come up once he left Geoff’s and went to visit his family for a few days. His mom picked him up from the airport, and when the first words out of her mouth were ‘where’s Nicole?’ it had quickly spiraled from there. He felt like he was some stupid teenager again that got caught in a lie, as he had to painfully explain that she left, that he didn’t want to bring it up sooner, that he’d be okay if she just stopped picking at it.

They ended up stopping at some random restaurant to hash it out. Michael was just glad the place had some good mixed drinks to order while his mother pulled every excruciating detail out of him.

But he hadn’t mentioned Ryan. He had said that he had been with Geoff and some good people at the lodge and he hadn’t been lonely. But he kept the image of Ryan deep inside him, not available for anyone else to see and gawk at.

By the time he got to his mom’s house, everyone in the family knew what happened, just like he had predicted. The outcome was as good as he could hope for, ignoring the looks and side jabs from his brothers and the inane questions everyone else kept lobbing at him. Maybe his family wasn’t tactful, either. In any case, it was their way of dealing with things, and he resigned himself to hanging out with his younger nephews and cousins and all the other members of his family that were too little to give a shit about the fact that he was newly, tragically single.

It was a relief when he got back on a plane to Austin. It was warm and sunny and at least Lindsay and Gavin knew he had been dumped. To them it was pretty much old news, and the three of them exchanged gifts, got dinner a few times. One of Lindsay’s friends was throwing a New Year’s party, and of course Michael said yes. Lindsay even took it upon herself to pick up Gavin before meeting at Michael’s apartment.

“Ayy, Michael!” Gavin shouted, arms raised in the air before enveloping Michael in a crushing hug. “I haven’t seen my boy in ages!”

“We saw each other two days ago, Gavin,” Michael answered levelly, patting him on the back while Lindsay came up the stairs.

“He’s already kind of drunk,” she said. “Also hey, how’s it going?”

“Hi, and yeah, I couldn’t tell. Gavin, get off.”

“Aw, but Michael –”

“Jesus Christ, move, I have to pee,” Lindsay pushed Gavin – and Michael, as they were still attached – out of the doorway and further into the apartment. “Who’s gonna call the ride share?” she asked over her shoulder, before shutting the bathroom door.

“Michael can!”

“Wh – why me?”

“Well we’re at your place now, aren’t we? Kinda makes you the host.”

“It definitely does not. Get _off_ ,” Michael shuffled into the living room and dumped Gavin on the couch. He pulled out his phone, pulling up the right app and ordering the three of them a car while Gavin righted himself and wandered around the room.

“Man, this place looks empty,” he said.

“Gee, thanks.” It was true, unfortunately. Michael was never much of a decorator. Though Lindsay did give him a couple of cool, retro styled Nintendo posters for Christmas that he’d been meaning to put up. He was about to mention that when Gavin made a cooing noise and picked up the single photograph sitting all alone on the mantle above the mock fireplace.

“What’s this? Why are you on a mountain?”

It was a little embarrassing how Michael nearly jumped out of his skin. He fought down the urge to try and snatch the photo from Gavin’s hands – that would just make Gavin want to play keep away. Instead he slunk over and looked at the picture from over Gavin’s shoulder.

It was the same image every time he looked at it. Just him, in his old winter coat and those beat up hiking boots he had thrown out as soon as he got back to Austin. His body partially turned towards the ridge of the mountain, looking over the expanse of snow. His face turned over his shoulder towards the camera; eyes wide in surprise, mouth curled just slightly upward in a small, befuddled smile.

“Geoff took a picture of me,” he said immediately. He hated how the lie sounded in his mouth. “We went hiking when I was up at his lodge. I told you that, remember?”

“No! I don’t remember that… Why’d you frame it?”

“Geoff said I wasn’t allowed to put a framed picture of him in my apartment, so we compromised.”

“Huh.” Gavin squinted down at the frame for a minute longer, before putting it back on the mantle. Lindsay came out of the bathroom then, standing beside Michael and looking at the picture briefly.

“You should just get a bunch of pictures of yourself and decorate your apartment with them.”

“That’s sad, no, I’m not doing that.” Michael said. His phone buzzed. “Alright assholes, the car’s here, let’s go!” Gavin cheered and stumbled towards the door, Lindsay following behind. Michael fished out his house key to lock up behind him. He spared a glance over at the mantle, just to make sure the picture wasn’t damaged or hanging precariously over the edge, before closing the door and following his friends downstairs.

The party was at a nice house in Austin’s suburbs. It was already bursting with people by the time they arrived, and it took a good bit of fighting the crowd to get through the door and to the drinks table. Lindsay’s friend was also there – Michael couldn’t remember his name – and he offered to make them all some drinks to welcome them. It was good. Something with tequila. Lindsay stayed behind to talk to the guy for a while, and he and Gavin meandered through the crowded living room.

The good thing about the party mostly being full of Lindsay’s friends was that no one knew enough about him to get into any real conversations. None of them knew he’d been dating, or that he’d been dumped, or at least they figured it wasn’t their place to say anything. Anyone who didn’t know would find out months after the fact, probably in passing from Lindsay herself: “Oh, I guess I didn’t mention it, but Michael…” It was funny how long it could take for certain forms of news to get around, despite the acclaimed ‘word of mouth’ speed.

For now, Michael was content. He didn’t spend all of his Christmas break drinking himself into a stupor, he had even managed to be a productive member of society, cleaning up his apartment, going back to the gym, and hey, he had even managed to get laid. Not that he was going to tell anyone about that last thing.

That’s what he thought, half an hour and one drink into the party. A few minutes to midnight he was wasted and didn’t care who he told about anything.

“There you are!” Lindsay slurred, putting her arm around his shoulder. January in Austin meant jeans and a sweatshirt, even at night, but the body heat Lindsay provided out on the lawn was hardly a bad thing. “Where’s Gavin?”

“Who cares? Fuck ‘em, the British bastard.”

“We won! We’ve been an independent country for _years_. What’s he even doing here?” Lindsay said, continuing with the drunken tangent effortlessly. They hadn’t known each other for their whole lives, but sometimes it felt like they did. Michael drained his umpteenth cup of eggnog – which, after multiple people ‘spiked’ it, tasted more like straight rum than anything else. They clumsily waddled across the lawn, no destination in mind.

“Linds,” he said, trying not to sound too manic. “Linds I gotta tell you somethin’, but you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Did you and Gavin bang? Did you break up with him? Is that why I can’t find him?”

“No, no, not him – remember when I went to Geoff’s lodge place? Remember that guy there?”

“Geoff?”

“No, the guy at Geoff’s place, he was a pho-photographer.” Lindsay tripped over something, maybe her own feet, and he had to haul her to his side so they both stayed upright.

“Ohhh, yeah! Did you bang him?”

“Yeah! It was fuckin’ awesome!” Lindsay wrapped her arm around Michael tighter and cheered, her other arm shooting up in the air.

“So, like. Michael – be straight with me here. But not straight, you know? Like. Nicole. She turn you gay?” she asked, after her impulsive celebration was over. “Or like – not turn, because stuff doesn’t really _turn_ you gay. Did she make you have – have a gay epiphany?”

“Nah, I just liked him, you know?”

“Then – then you should see him, again,” Lindsay offered, squinting at nothing in particular. “You must’ve had a co’nection with him to do that so soon.”

“I can’t though, he lives in some totally random state. It wouldn’t work out.” They were coming up on a fence that separated this house’s yard from another, and they slowly turned around, facing the party again and picking their way back towards it. “I just – it’s hard.”

Lindsay snickered. “I bet.”

“No, shut up. I mean. Like. Nicole, she just left –”

“Like a little bitch.”

“Right, yeah. But she didn’t _say_ anything, you know? We didn’t… end it. Not really. And this guy, this Ryan guy, he, I mean. We said goodbye, and stuff. But it just. He just left, in the end. ‘Cause he had to.” Michael stared at his feet, and the brown grass underfoot, kicking an empty beer can as he went. “They both just left me and I can’t do anything to get them back.” Lindsay didn’t say anything, and Michael figured her attention had drifted to something else. Fine, whatever. Probably for the best.

“Can I try to be serious for a second, Michael?” Lindsay started out of nowhere.

“Uh, sure, yeah, I guess.”

She was quiet for a while. Long enough that Michael figured she had forgotten again. “Sometimes people are assholes, not for all the usual reasons, but because they do things and don’t think – or just don’t care – how people around them are gonna take it,” she said, her cadence slow and careful to make up for how drunk she was. “Sometimes on purpose, or on accident. I think leaving someone like that without, you know, closure, is one of those things. It happens, we can’t do shit about it. It sucks.” He felt her shrug. “Michael, I know it’s not the same but. I’m gonna be here for you, whenever and however you need it. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Promise.” Michael blinked rapidly, tilted his head up towards at the dark sky. He swore he was saw double, a bunch of sequins in the open air, flashing and trembling in his eyes.

“Lindsay,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “If I asked for a hug right now, are you gonna call me a pussy?”

“No.” Lindsay didn’t wait for him to actually ask, instead shifting so she was in front of him and tugging him into a hug, arms tight across his back. He pressed the bottom half of his face to her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

Around them, the more comatose partygoers were roused from where they were spread along the lawn and deck from the voices inside the house, counting down the last remnants of the year alongside the television. Lindsay brought a hand up to hold the back of his head, fingers clenching slightly, lightly pressing into his scalp. He took a large breath, held it in time to the counting going on around them.

“ _Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!_ ”

He breathed out, gave Lindsay one last squeeze, and started to move back. Lindsay let him, and they disentangled themselves from each other. He took a step back, looked at her. “Thanks,” he managed. Though he was so quiet and everyone around them was so loud, he wasn’t sure if she even heard him. Either way, Lindsay nodded.

“Wanna drink to the new year?” he asked, after a pause. This time she just shrugged, and they went back into the house.

Sometime later, Gavin found them again, and he was quick to chase Michael through the crowd, trying to get a ‘New Year’s kiss from his favorite boi’. Michael protested in between peals of laughter, dodging Gavin until he got outside, running around the lawn. Gavin was drunk enough that he ended up stumbling, nearly falling on his face a handful of times. Lindsay had followed them, and when Michael looked back he saw she had her phone out to film them; she was laughing so hard that the footage would probably be too shaky to rewatch, anyway.

Michael eventually gave up, laying down in the grass to fight off Gavin’s advances on the ground. After a while even Gavin gave up, going limp next to him. He stared up at the few stars he could see in the dark sky, breathing hard, grass tickling the back of his neck.

“You good, boi?” Gavin asked. He stretched, his arm hitting Michael in the side.

“Yeah,” he said, a few seconds later. “I’m good.”


	12. Friday, April 14th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sick (again). But I got bored laying around that I decided to finally, finally update, and give you guys the ending you've been waiting for!! I hope you've enjoyed it, but stick around, I've got one more chapter to post. ;)

Michael hopped out of the car and buttoned his jacket. “I’m just _saying_ that when you invited me, you never said anything about wearing a suit until right before we left.”

Lindsay locked the car, hurrying her pace to walk by Michael’s side. “It’s a nice place, why wouldn’t you wear a suit?” She got the door for them and they walked into the building.

“Yeah, but the company has a jeans and t-shirt policy, didn’t figure it was a suit level thing. I’m not a suit guy.”

“Says the guy who flew to Austin _wearing_ a suit.”

“I didn’t have any way to iron it at my new apartment! I didn’t want it wrinkled!”

“Oh my God. Shut up and take the program.” She smacked him with a leaflet placed on the table and Michael used it to hide his smile at Lindsay’s irritation. They were at some apparently famous downtown gallery, Lindsay’s company had rented it for the evening to celebrate some quarterly event or some big accomplishment or something, and he hadn’t really inquired much after Lindsay asked him to be her date for the night.

As they left the foyer Michael saw a range of corridors leading off into smaller, separate galleries. Lindsay didn’t duck into any of them, though, instead going on into the heart of the building where the main hall was. There were several nicely arranged table of hors d’oeuvres, and a few servers were walking around, carrying trays of wine and sparkling water. Michael snagged two of the former, giving one to Lindsay.

“Miles couldn’t have been your plus one?” he asked, frowning when he saw a sign that said food and drinks weren’t allowed into the actual galleries. No drunken yelling at a Picasso, then. That put a damper on things.

“It’s crunch time down there, you know it.”

“Do I? I’ve literally been working at this place for two months.”

When he and Lindsay had first met, years ago, it had been at a house party given by some mutual acquaintance. Michael had only gone because he had just started living in Austin and felt like he needed to get out more. He had maybe said a few words to Lindsay out of courtesy and didn’t really think much of it, until he started running into her pretty regularly for weeks afterwards. They both realized that they lived in the same apartment complex and, well, history was made, as Lindsay liked to dramatically say.

About a year after they became friends, Lindsay moved closer into the city when she started at this place, an online entertainment startup, mostly focused with online production.  Michael was content being an electrician – he’d fucking moved to Texas for that in the first place – and while he wasn’t above making funny videos to throw up on YouTube for all of twelve people to see, he brushed off Lindsay’s suggestions about getting a job with them for a long time.

Until the company started to gain traction in the last several months, and Michael had started to come in to fix up the new office building the company had just moved into. He was still a per diem employee, just coming in for technical stuff with the building in between his regular shifts, but Lindsay had showed her bosses some of his videos, and apparently they were more than interested in his unique way of yelling at video games he sucked at playing. Michael hated to admit it, but being around all the people Lindsay worked with made him warm up to the idea of biting the bullet, going in for an interview, and becoming her coworker. In the meantime, though, he did agree to come along to this function.

After about forty minutes of eating shrimp cocktail and crackers and drinking wine (and whiskey, and an extra rum and coke that someone he vaguely knew named Elyse didn’t want) there was a tell-tale sound of a fork clinking on glass, and people began to find places to sit down.

“Well, this is as good a time as any to bail,” Michael whispered to Lindsay, draining his glass and putting it on a passing waiter’s tray.

“What? No fair,”

“You should be thanking me for not risking company secrets getting spilled onto Twitter.”

“Like you have any Twitter followers on your sad, unverified account, anyways.”

“Bite me,” he huffed, and walked into one of the galleries before the speeches officially started.

He wandered the halls for a while, alternating between staring at abstract paintings and sculptures he definitely didn’t ‘get’, and playing on his phone. He had no idea how much longer the boring part of the gala was going to last, and he headed up to the third floor, which was evidently just a wing reserved for touring exhibits. He stood at the entryway into the gallery, looking at the exhibit posters. There had been one on Salvador Dali, which had ended the week before, and the next one was coming on the following Monday, something entitled, “American Wild”, then the subtitle, “A Review of the American Landscape, from the Hudson River School to Now”. Why did part of that ring a bell? He squinted, trying to glean any additional meaning from the little poster advertising the exhibit schedule, until he heard a loud, echoing _bang!_ from further into the gallery.

He turned his head towards the noise, noting that the double doors to the exhibit hall were probably meant to be closed, but one was propped open with a dented paint can. Looking through the gap he saw that the lights were on, even though the walls were entirely blank just before him. There were some tarps, more paint cans, and ladders scattered on one side of the hall.

Michael crept forward, pushing the door open to get a better look. He probably wasn’t supposed to be here; it clearly wasn’t open to the public, but he had just enough alcohol in his system to decide that a momentary lapse of judgement due to boredom was worth getting banned from some fancy art gallery he wouldn’t bother visiting again, anyway.

The smell of fresh varnish stung his nose, the wall that held the door was painted a forest green, that same long title stenciled on top in white paint. Even though art galleries were mostly empty, this place looked deserted, the lack of canvases on the wall turning the place into a strange void.

He rounded the corner, finding a few blown up photographs placed side-by-side with paintings of outdoor landscapes, one matching the other. There was a tall man in a backwards baseball cap and jeans staring at a particular set of paired pictures – a view looking up at a formidable, snow-covered mountain.

Michael swore his heart stopped. He put a hand to his chest and coughed, desperately. Thumb running over his sternum as he tried to assess the weird pain he felt in his ribs.

The man turned to look at him.

“…Michael?” Ryan asked, and he took a tentative step towards the younger man, who was still rubbing at the spot by his heart, willing himself to calm down.

He forced a smile and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Hey, Ryan,” he said, casually stepping forward despite how panicked he was. His eyes roamed the walls. “I, uh, didn’t realize artists have to set up their own exhibits.”

Ryan looked over his shoulder at the paintings and photographs, like he had completely forgotten about them. “…Usually you don’t, but considering I live in the city and I made friends with the director, they gave me a key to the hall.” He looked back at Michael, scrutinizing him. “What are _you_ doing here? I thought you lived in New Jersey – I mean, not that I’m not glad to see you, but –” He didn’t carry on.

Michael shrugged a shoulder. “I _used_ to live in New Jersey, about five years ago. Been living in Austin since. Got invited as a plus one to this event and I managed to slip away,”

“And go into a clearly off limits exhibit hall,” Ryan said, the corner of his mouth lifting a little.

“Hey, you left the door open. And something about Hudson River School seemed familiar.”

Ryan’s smile burst through. “Did it, now.”

The pain in Michael’s chest was replaced with an effervescent warmth; champagne in his veins. “Come on Ryan, give me some credit. I have ears, you know. And a working memory.” He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, forcing them behind his back, clutching them, slipping them back in his pockets. As soon as he stilled his hands he started bouncing on the balls of his feet, forced to tremble like it was the only thing keeping his balance, walking a thin line up in the air with constant momentum the only thing to keep him from falling down. “So, um. What are _you_ doing here? Besides the obvious.”

“Well, uh. I don’t know if you remember me mention that I was moving out of Georgia.” Michael nodded. “It was to – here. I’m in Austin now, too. This gallery happened to also be the second place to want my collection.”

“What are the fucking odds?”

Ryan shrugged helplessly. “Guess somehow we managed to miss that about each other.” Michael looked intently just past Ryan’s shoulder. Yeah, somehow they did manage to miss that little detail. Ryan cleared his throat. “So. Uh, how are – things?”

“Good. Been keeping myself busy.”

“Yeah, you – you look good.”

“Well, the suit helps.”

“Besides the suit. You’re, um. You look – happy. Happier then – yeah.” Michael scratched the back of his neck.

“Time heals all wounds, I guess. And I got a personal trainer after the New Year, so like – exercise, endorphins. It’s all mixed in there.” He swallowed. “You look good, too.”

Ryan chucked, taking his hat off to scrub at his face. “You don’t have to be nice,” he said, replacing his ball cap. “I know I probably look like a mess.”

“No, not a mess. Just, maybe a little tired?”

“I am. _So_ tired. I’m just glad I won’t have to fly anywhere for a while. This exhibit will be here for about three months. Which is as close to a vacation as I’ll ever get.” Ryan turned back to the art on the walls, walking a leisurely line up and down the few pieces that were hanging up. “We figured out the placement weeks ago, and it should be all set to go on Monday. I just… like to check in for myself. Figured coming in after-hours was the best option, and none of the guests seemed to come up here.” He looked at Michael. “Well, most of the guests.”

Michael preened, and walked towards Ryan, their shoulders almost brushing. The size of the photographs matched those of the canvases, some were no larger than a laptop, a coffee table art book. The one of the mountain, however, was the size of a king sized mattress. The photographs had been altered to look a little livelier, more colorful, though they were still clear depictions of reality, instead of the romantic interpretation most of the paintings took on. “It’s supposed to go through the seasons,” Ryan explained, quietly. “Autumn comes first, when the guests walk into the hall, then they walk clock-wise, from winter,” He nodded to the pictures in front of them, then gestured further down the hall, where there was another corner, “to the spring, then summer, and back to autumn, where they can exit.”

“You showed me some of these on camera,” Michael murmured. “I didn’t realize how big they’d be. I like it, though. Like it a lot.”

“Do you want to see?” Ryan asked, slowly making his way towards the entryway, where the first paired pictures were hanging.

“Of course.”

There were only eight paired pictures for the winter season. Ryan explained that most paintings were set in the spring and summer months, where the lighting was better – some of the artists had painted _en plein air_. Most of the winter photographs Michael recognized – frozen rivers, ominous mountain ridges. They slowly went from one set of pictures to the other, and Michael couldn’t help but grin, a hand going up when he spotted the familiar picture of the small wooden cottage being dwarfed by the barren forest. His fingers stretched out, not intending to touch, but wanting to somehow get as close as he could.

“I like this one,” he said pleasantly, not knowing if he meant it from an objective point of view, or just because that was the first outing he and Ryan had gone on, or if they were both intrinsically tied together.

Ryan’s voice was deep and soft by his ear. “I like that one too,” he said. They stared at it for a minute. Michael could almost remember the bite of frost in the air, the way the wind could blow and make it burn to breathe. The stillness around them, just them, together. How it didn’t mean much at the time, but now… He swallowed, glancing to the right. Ryan moved, showed off the rest of the displayed photographs and paintings. Most of the spring and summer paintings had been hung up already, but there were still some blank spots on the walls.

“I’ve never been in a half finished exhibit,” Michael added, staring at the picture of a canyon, somewhere in the southwest, it looked like. A climate more like Austin’s; sunny and bone dry. The oil on the canvas and the ink on the print were so bright Michael could swear he felt his eyes ache. “It’s kind of cool. Behind the scenes.”

“Yeah, it is kind of cool, isn’t it?”

“And I know the artist,” he said, elbowing Ryan. “ _So_ cool.” Ryan chuckled, tugging at the hem of the shirt he was wearing.

“Well, I mean,” Ryan sputtered, as they made the way to the doors of the exhibit. “I’m honored.”

“I’m glad Lindsay dragged me along,” he admitted. Ryan turned to him.

“Lindsay?”

“Yeah, they’re doing a thing with her job here. I came as her plus one. She’s my friend.”

“Oh. Sorry, I thought, um,” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Michael leaned against the door to the exhibit hall, careful to not actually push it open and fall backwards.

“I don’t think it’s nothing. Come on, tell me.”

“I – well at first I thought if you came along as someone’s plus one they weren’t exactly a _friend_. Which I guess is really none of my business, but.”

“Why wouldn’t it be your business?” Michael asked slowly. “I mean. You could make it your business. It’s not like we’re strangers.”

“It’s not like what happened was –” Ryan stopped, stared at Michael. “…official, was it?”

“…No. Guess it wasn’t,” Michael pitched back ruefully. “Never did get around to telling my mom about you.”

“Wasn’t expecting you to.” Ryan leaned back, like he needed more space between them. “Did you – do you –” he shook his head again, smile careful and not all there. “I have a hundred questions but I don’t think I wanna put you on the spot like that. Ruin your night or something.” He glanced at the door, at Michael. “Maybe I should head out.”

“Ask me,” Michael said. “Ask me one thing. Promise I can take it.” Ryan was looking at him so intently that Michael had to fight not to flinch, rear back.

“Okay,” Ryan said eventually. “Just – do you regret it? Us?”

“No,” Michael said. He didn’t even need to think about it. Then, boldly, he added, “And I’d do it all again, too.” There, all his cards on the table in a sentence. His heart bared in a handful of words.

“Me too,” Ryan said. “I just – I didn’t think I’d ever _see_ you again, Michael.”

“Neither did I,” Michael said. He pushed off from the door and walked towards the other man. “I guess that’s kind of a plus, doing something with someone else and thinking you’d never see them again, but for me, it made it so much _worse_.”

“I – wanted to see you again, too,” Ryan admitted. And yet, he still seemed hesitant, like he wanted to turn away and run off. But Michael didn’t have anything left to hide – at least, nothing that Ryan couldn’t have guessed at. Shouldn’t they have been jumping into each other’s arms by now? Just standing with an imaginary gulf between them was exhausting. He needed a bridge, a rope, something that would pull them to come crashing together again.

Well, fuck it. He had done enough waiting. “Fuck it,” he said, and leaned up to press his mouth to Ryan’s.

The other man was warm, like he had been in December. Warm and soft and like – a homecoming, that was it. He was like home. Michael could admit it now. As soon as he pulled away he was aching for another kiss. But he had to make sure he was doing the right thing, first. He was giving Ryan what had to be a look full of longing. He didn’t care if he was meant to be embarrassed or not. Last time, Ryan had done the pushing. It was only right; he had been confused, more than a bit bitter, broken-hearted. Now it was different. Now he could push back and not be afraid that Ryan would want to be polite, be the gentleman on his behalf and create distance between them.

“Michael,” Ryan breathed out, “are you sure?”

“Yes. No. I mean – I’m sure I want to kiss you again. I can’t promise we’re going to be perfect like the fucking Hallmark channel movie romance we had back at the lodge but,” he reached out, and Ryan grasped his hand, held it, interlaced their fingers. “I want to try, with you. Now that we’re here, that we can. Do you?”

“Yes,” Ryan said immediately. “Yes, please, just – this just feels too good to be true, sorry,” he added, flustered.

“You’re telling me.”

“Kiss me again.”

And Michael did.

“You sure you’re really here?” Ryan asked, when they broke apart.

“I’m sure.”

“It’s just –”

“Ryan, I _know._ ” They both laughed, giddy and overjoyed type laughs. “I definitely was _not_ expecting to see you ever again, Ryan,” Michael said, reaching up and cupping his cheek with the hand that wasn’t laced with his. “But now that I have, I kind of never want you to leave again. Oh, and I’m considering actually asking you out on a proper date,” he added breezily. “You know, just because we kind of did everything in a random order doesn’t mean we shouldn’t at least try to do a few normal, boring hang outs.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow at Michael. “You’re only _considering_ a date?”

“Well, it’s been a long time since we last met. Who knows what sort of person you’ve become since?”

“Someone who’s more than a little in love with you,” Ryan replied easily. Michael’s hand gripped Ryan’s harder than before, but instead of asking _‘Really? Are you sure?’_ he let Ryan kiss him; it was all the answer he needed.

They reluctantly pulled apart when Michael’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He glanced at it, saw Lindsay was calling him. “Sorry,” he said to Ryan, before pressing the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

“Where the hell are you? I’ve already said goodbye to everyone and half the people left by now. Miles and Kerry wanted to go out and get some real dinner and go to the bar.”

“In their suits?” Michael frowned, checking his watch. Had he really spent over an hour just talking to Ryan? It had felt like fifteen minutes.

“You can get more chicks in a suit, that’s what they said.”

“That doesn’t even. Whatever.” He turned back to Ryan to give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry I ditched you, I’m still here. I just… ran into someone really important and lost track of time talking to them.” Ryan’s thumb ran over the back of his hand.

“Who would you meet in a closed off art gallery?”

“I promise I’ll tell you when I meet you at your car in ten minutes, deal?” Lindsay huffed.

“Yeah, sure. Deal. See you there.”

He hung up and looked over at Ryan. “We have to cut our reunion short, it looks like.”

“That’s okay. If you didn’t interrupt me I’d probably spend all night here.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Speaking from experience?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Well… Want me to walk you out?” Michael stuck his arm out, and with a fond smile Ryan was wrapping his arm around Michael’s, the pair of them slowly making their way downstairs, out to the museum’s small parking lot. They must have looked like an odd pair, Michael in his suit and Ryan in some worn jeans and a faded t-shirt. Ryan led them towards a pickup truck – though this one was black. The license plate had an orange peach on it.

Ryan fished his keys from his jeans pocket and unlocked the car, opening the driver’s side door but not hopping in just yet. Instead he turned, looked down at Michael. “Well, so far this is going much better than the last time you walked me to my car.”

“If you promise me we can get breakfast tomorrow I think we could easily knock this into the ultimate best time I’ve walked you to your car.”

“You’ve only walked me to my car twice, though.”

“Well, why be good when you can be great, that’s what I always say.”

“You do not,” Ryan scoffed.

“No, I don’t. Now do you want to get some waffles with me tomorrow morning or not?”

Ryan gave him a look like he had offered him the sun itself. Then he slowly pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. “What’s your number?”

 

–

 

Michael waved as Ryan slowly drove out of the parking lot and slipped into traffic. He turned and walked a few rows over, where Lindsay was leaning against her own car, watching him with a frown. Once he got close enough she shoved his shoulder.

“You ass! You totally left me hanging through all those boring speeches. I didn’t have anyone to make fun of Burnie with.”

“Sorry! Time got away from me. And stuff.”

“And stuff,” Lindsay repeated, her eyes looking out at the road Ryan had turned onto. “Who was that?”

“Ryan.”

Lindsay squinted. “Ryan…”

“That guy from the lodge.”

“ _That_ Ryan? He’s here? You met him? How?”

Michael instinctually patted his pants pocket, making sure his phone – and a certain someone’s contact information – was safe. “Uh, the short version? A super late Christmas miracle.” Lindsay looked at him.

“Cute. But I want the long version. Rated R, preferably. Tell me in the car.” She opened the door and started the engine, and after a moment, Michael walked to the passenger side, got in, and started talking.


	13. Epilogue: Saturday, September 23rd

“Uh-huh, right, and the Diet Coke? Yeah. Okay, I’ll be there in twenty, thanks. Bye.” Michael stopped folding up his clothes and leaned backward, peering into the hallway where Ryan was looking at his phone.

“I feel like we need to have a talk about your Diet Coke addiction.”

Ryan didn’t look up from the screen. “Nah.”

“Don’t ‘nah’ me, dickhead.”

“Okay, uh, yes dear? How’s that?”

Michael’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Dear? Okay, sure. It is better, technically.”

“Alright, good, I’ll keep it in mind.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket and turned, facing Michael properly and leaning his shoulder against the wall. “Why does my Diet Coke consumption matter? Is it the aspertain thing? Because I was actually looking into some of the studies, and –”

“Oh my God, no, I was just trying to subtly let you know that you’re going to be sharing a fridge with me and I don’t wanna be playing fucking Tetris with a bunch of soda cases every time we go grocery shopping.”

“But the cases would be the oft-coveted rectangular pieces, so they’d probably help you in the long run. And anyway if this is about the fridge I swear it was one time –”

“It was way more than one time," Michael interrupted. "You keep like, four things in your fridge, max, and one of those is always a case of Diet Coke.”

“Well it used to be Dr. Pepper.”

“At least Dr. Pepper tastes like a real soda, not like. Chemicals.”

“They’re all chemicals, Michael. And technically so are we. We’re fat and muscle and bones and chemicals." He paused for a moment. "Water is a chemical.”

“So why couldn’t you drink that instead?”

“Uh… it seemed too ambitious of a jump for me, at the time. And now I’m set in my ways.” He spread his arms out in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture, and Michael snorted, moving back to his original position: kneeling in the doorway to his bedroom, packing up the last of his clothes.

“I have so much shit, Jesus Christ,” Michael muttered, zipping his alarmingly heavy suitcase and standing it up. “It’s all t-shirts and socks and it still weighs a fucking ton. How did it get this bad? How many Mario shirts does a guy need?” Ryan shrugged again, backing out of the hallway so Michael could heave his bag towards the front door. He wiped his hands on his jeans as he surveyed the apartment in front of him.

“I cleaned the counters in the kitchen while you were in there,” Ryan supplied. “And swept and mopped. So that should be all set.” Michael nodded. He had vacuumed all the carpets after the movers left earlier that day to make sure his apartment was clean and dust-free. And now everything was barren. Just some wall-to-wall carpeting and a couple of boxes and bags, all stuffed with kitchenware and random knick knacks that they hadn’t bothered to shove in with the U-Haul yet. Most of his furniture could thankfully be used in Ryan's house - the guy hadn't felt the need to decorate his spare bedroom and whatnot - and everything that they couldn't use had already been given away or sold off. Michael was so close to moving out he could practically taste it. Thank God. Ryan idly tapped his toe against one of the folded up boxes and Michael looked over at him. “Too bad your friends were only helping us yesterday.”

“I mean, I figured we could handle the last couple of things. Besides, Miles looked like he was going to pass out two hours in. And Gavin was just about useless.”

“I didn’t realize Lindsay had that kind of upper body strength. And also I’m pretty sure Jeremy could lift more than either of us.” Michael laughed.

“Oh yeah, no doubt. I tried to arm wrestle him once and I actually thought my arm was going to pop off.” It was funny, how fast he had gone from pushing Lindsay’s job suggestions aside to going full-time at the company, and even making friends there. People who liked him enough to help him move. He was still lending a hand to fix some electrical issues should the need arise, but these days he was mostly behind a desk, editing videos – some of them he was actually in. Who thought he could get paid to be bad at video games and do a bunch of improv skits and shit? He had even tossed around starting up a podcast, since people usually liked to hear him ramble on about nothing in videos.

Lindsay had also told him she had met with some of her bosses; it was all still supposed to be confidential still, but he was expected to get a permanent, full-time position by the end of the quarter – and a decent raise, too. So, it was good. Things were good right now. He glanced up, catching Ryan surveying the apartment like he had done a minute ago. His hands tapped against the granite countertop.

Their eyes met.

“You gonna miss it here?” Ryan asked, a touch quiet. Nervous.

“Ryan,” Michael huffed, walking towards the little nook where Ryan was standing, “come on, not you too.” Lindsay and Gavin (and his mom, of fucking course) weren’t shy to tell him they thought he was rushing the moving-in-together step of the relationship. After they had that miraculous encounter at the gallery back in the spring, they both made good on their proposed plan to get breakfast. Breakfast had turned into several hours of talking, which turned into getting lunch and even more talking and – they made it official more or less that day, though they both didn’t reveal that to everyone around them until about a week after that. Sure, it was _fast,_ but it wasn’t because they were too infatuated to be practical, they just –

Well, they already knew each other, didn’t they? As though to prove it Ryan moved away from the countertop, arms opening slightly, welcoming Michael in without either having to say a word. Ryan’s hands met at his lower back, circling around him.

“Not me too, I just –” He sighed. Michael’s hands curled along his biceps. “…Didn’t want you to feel like I was forcing you to live with me.”

“Wasn’t I the one who brought it up?” Ryan sucked on his teeth a moment.

“Actually, I can’t even remember. I do remember it didn’t take long for you to start spending the night, though.”

“Well your place is pretty nice. Bigger, better entertainment system, wood floors, closer to work, and it’s an actual house,” He flicked Ryan’s arm, pulling away. “Even if it’s kind of a bitch to drive there from here.”

Ryan tailed him. “I see you didn’t mention _me_ in any of that.”

“I thought I didn’t have to. I mean it’s not like I’d be moving to that house unless we were dating. Like, you’re kind of an integral part of the equation.” Ryan looked appeased, but he didn’t smile until Michael stopped moving, leaning up to press his lips to Ryan’s. “Yeah, maybe it’s a little fast,” he conceded, “but the landlord is super strict about contracts and I didn’t want to own an apartment I’d hardly be using for an entire year.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you. I guess I shouldn’t worry. I mean, you’re not worried, right?”

“Not really.” Sometimes Michael would catch himself, not out of any concern, but over the _absence_ of worry. He should have been on edge, pushing away stray hints of doubt, convincing himself that things would be okay instead of already being totally sure. Instead of pushing away anxiety, he was counting down the days till he turned in his keys and pronounced himself done with this old place. Even now, he felt content. It was hard not to, with Ryan still looking at him like he was someone unbelievably special.

He glanced past the other man, catching the time on the oven’s clock. “I think you better get going,” he murmured.

“Going where?” After a thoughtful pause on Ryan’s part, he startled. “Oh, pizza, right.” Michael snorted, moving aside to let Ryan get his stuff together. “Do we need anything else while I’m out?”

“…Not that I can think of, I’ll probably start moving the rest of the boxes into the truck until you get back.” Michael was already disappearing into the hallway when he heard the front door open, then:

“Uh, can I help you?” Ryan asked. “Are you looking for someone?” Michael turned around. The apartments were a bunch of duplexes set up in a cul-de-sac style instead of a large building, so it wasn’t unheard of to see someone wandering the sidewalk looking for the right address. He walked towards the door where Ryan was still standing; he was probably better equipped to help some lost stranger than Ryan was.

“Yeah, um. Do you know if there’s a, uh, Michael Jones who still lives here? Unless he’s gone by now.” His ears pricked at a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in a long time. There was a pit in his stomach, but he forced himself forward before Ryan could call his name.

“Yeah, I’m still here.” He refused to say her name until he got to the door and confirmed it for sure. Ryan stepped back so he could get into the doorway and get a good look at the woman standing there. “Hi, Nicole.”

Nicole?” Ryan asked. Michael could feel him against his back, looking at her. “That Nicole?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Did you, uh, forget something?” Michael asked, squinting at her. He casually put his arm up against the threshold. He wasn’t sure if that was for support, to keep her out, or both.

“No, I just – kept seeing a moving truck in your driveway any time I went to work and finally had the balls to actually stop my car and see for myself. Do you think I could –” she sighed. “Can I come in?” Michael blinked. It was kind of eerie, seeing his ex for the first time in months – literally standing on his front porch. It may have been a scenario he’d imagined a hundred times or so. Granted, his imagination was more focused on a sobbing ex-girlfriend, desperate to apologize to him, and him wordlessly slamming the door in her face without a thought. Part of him was still sorely tempted to do just that, turn his back on her until she went away. With his new job and soon-to-be new place, it wasn’t like she could randomly show up anymore.

Maybe that’s why she felt compelled to come on his last night here.

“Michael,” Ryan murmured next to his ear, obviously trying not to break the moment. “Maybe you two should, uh, talk about… whatever you wanted to talk about. I can go pick up the pizza, be back in like twenty minutes. Unless you want to come with me. That’s fine, too.”

“No, you – you go. I don’t think we’ll need very long.” Ryan stepped around Michael – who put his arm down so Ryan could slip between the doorway and Nicole and head to his car. He gave Michael a way too optimistic thumbs up before getting into the driver’s seat.

“So, I can come in?” Nicole asked again. Michael sighed, opened the door wider.

“Yeah, sure.” Ryan’s truck started to pull out of the driveway and he shut the door behind him. Nicole walked around the living room, looking at the dramatic transformation that had gone down since she had last been here.

“You always were really neat,” she said quietly, eyeing the row of boxes by the door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, it’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Michael shrugged, crossing his arms. This was already going very differently than how he imagined in his head. Nicole wasn’t crying, obviously. She just looked awkward, out of place. But Michael probably looked the same in her eyes.

“What do you want, Nicole?” She turned, leaning back against the kitchen counter, the balls of her feet bouncing on the living room carpet.

“I don’t know, I just – I didn’t change where I work, and apartment is further away, so I kept driving by here twice a day, five times a week. I wasn’t like, watching you or anything, but when I saw a moving truck outside o – your place, I just. I had to come see if you were still here.”

“I am. For another few hours, at least. Mystery solved, you can go home now.”

“Michael, come on. I’m trying to apologize. Clear the air, or something.” She scratched at the back of her neck, gaze drifting to Michael’s shoulder.

“I never would’ve guessed.”

She deflated somewhat and managed to meet his eyes again. “Alright, well I’m telling you – what I did was super selfish and shitty. I mean, not breaking up because that happens, but…” She swiped her hair back from her forehead, practically tugging at the strands. “I could’ve handled it a lot better. Instead of forcing you out of your own apartment and treating you like you were some kind of asshole,” she said in a rush. “You really weren’t.”

“I – okay,” Michael said. “I do remember some asshole like behavior on your part,” he tried to keep his tone light. It would have been a stretch to say he forgot about Nicole after meeting Ryan, but – it was easier to get over things once they had gotten together. He had done the however many stages of grief, slapped a bandaid on and moved on with his life way quicker than he would have done without Ryan, sure, but he never doubted the healing he went through was real.

It was still disorienting to see Nicole in front of him after so many months of her being a ghost. “Why now? You could have texted me, or something.”

“Would you have answered?” Michael winced at the memory of the only time Nicole had tried to contact him, that weirdly vague Merry Christmas text he had gotten, one he had never responded to.

“Uh, no. Probably not. I’m pretty sure I blocked your number, actually.” Nicole twisted her mouth in the way she did when she found something funny, but didn’t want to admit it.

“There you go,” she said. That had been a classic neutral statement of hers, the same way Ryan emphasized the word _well_. An ‘end of story’. They stared at each other, Michael’s stomach twisting at the prolonged silence. “I, uh. Hope things are going well for you now, at least.”

“Yeah, they’re – good. Moving to the other side of the city,” he said slowly. He didn’t want to get any more specific on the off chance Nicole would track him down again.

“Was that guy your new roommate, or…?”

“Boyfriend, actually,” Michael said. “Moving in with him.” She nodded, but didn’t say anything else. “You seeing anyone?”

“Guy I dated in college. We reconnected on Facebook, been together for a bit. I – I meant it when I told you we weren’t a thing when we broke up.” Michael shrugged.

“Wouldn’t really matter now if you did.”

“Guess so.” She blew out a breath and straightened up a bit. “I don’t know why I came here, honestly. You’re – we’re both kind of different. We changed a lot since we last saw each other. You’re a lot… calmer.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Calmer?” He didn’t feel even slightly calm. She just shrugged a shoulder.

“I don’t know, at ease. I kind of avoided seeing you because I figured I’d get chewed out for pretty much ghosting you because I’m awful at emotional stuff.”

“I mean, I’m not the best at emotions either, but I never would have just _left,_ you know.”

She chuckled slightly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, you’re right, you wouldn’t have done that. And I really am sorry that’s how I… ended things. So if you wanted to, like, yell at me for that, I guess it’s what I deserve.” She stepped across the room, getting closer to him, still looking sheepish and even a bit small.

Michael stared at her for a long time. It still felt like talking to a mirage; the fact that he could look at his ex without wanting to scream or run away or cry was strange, to say the least. It almost felt underwhelming; there was no clash or big, dramatic, fight. Just two people who had moved on, physically and emotionally, from each other.

“Nah,” he said finally, “I can forgive you without the yelling. It’s water under the bridge.” Nicole nodded.

“I – it’s really nice to hear you say that,” she managed. “I’d ask if we could be friends or something, but…”

Michael winced. “Yeah, maybe not.” That was pushing it. To his relief, Nicole laughed.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s too much.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I – I’m glad you’re happy now, though. That I didn’t, um, cause some everlasting trauma or something. You’re a good guy, Michael.”

“Thanks,” he managed. “Uh, you too.” She nodded again, then let out a breath, giving him a small, relieved smile.

“Well then. I – I guess I’ll see you around. Or not.” She gave Michael a last once over. “Bye, Michael.”

“Bye,” he said. Nicole opened the door to his apartment, gave him one last, polite smile, and left. He was stuck staring at the door as it shut.

“Huh,” he said to his empty apartment. He eyed the boxes on the ground and resolutely sat in one of the fold-out chairs instead. He quickly zoned out, only rousing himself however long later when Ryan opened the door, plastic bag dangling from his arm and pizza box held in his hands.

“She gone?” he asked, putting the food on the countertop.

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s gone.” Boy, did that sound overly dramatic for what was really a mundane conversation. He ran a hand through his hair, stretching out in his seat and staring off into nothing.

Ryan tapped his shoulder, shoving a plate of pizza under his nose. “Well, eat and tell me about it,” he said, pulling the other chair close and taking a sip of soda. “Did she try to seduce you? Did you guys get into a shouting match? Is her life super sad now or did her boyfriend swing by in a Bugatti and pick her up?” Michael snorted, shaking the last of the cobwebs from his brain.

“Nothing that exciting, and her boyfriend? Her car was on the street!” Ryan laughed, tipping his head back, silently begging for any detail Michael would spare. “We just talked. She apologized, I said it was alright, and she left. There really wasn’t a lot to it. I probably won’t see her again. Unless we have a chance encounter at a grocery store or something, you know? She seemed good.”

“Huh,” Ryan said. “So, nothing really interesting, then?”

“No, I mean. It’s been, what, nine months since we broke up? It’s hard to stay mad or upset with someone for that long. Especially if you literally don’t see them at all during that time. Out of sight out of mind, I guess. It was just… weird, more than anything.” He glanced up at Ryan, suddenly a bit shy. He and Nicole had been really great, for a while, at least. He had loved her just like he loved Ryan now. But when confronted with her tonight, it was just, a little strange, carefully distant.

There was the unspoken thought that he and Ryan could end up the same way. Even Ryan seemed to think the same thing, his eyes had grown distant, staring at the blank wall.

Then: “So, I almost ran over a family when I pulled into the parking lot.” Michael choked.

“What? You what?” Ryan giggled.

“Okay well it wasn’t a whole family. Just the two kids – but in my defense –”

“Why are you trying to defend yourself?!” Michael nearly screamed. “You let me talk about my ex while you’re riding home with two fucking manslaughter charges?”

“Do you want the story or not? I don’t do well with interruptions.” Michael shook his head and took a bite out of his pizza. He knew what Ryan was doing; purposefully playing up some goofy thing he got up to in order to distract Michael and cheer him up. Ryan could lift his spirits pretty easily, especially now that they knew one another so well. Even if the act was a bit transparent, Michael appreciated it anyway.

“I’ll be quiet. Now tell it from the beginning.”

“Okay. Well. Like I said, I was pulling into the parking lot…”

             

 

-

 

Ryan’s house was new, with high ceilings and a lot of brushed copper details everywhere. It was par for the course for houses in Austin, where prime real estate was still incredibly cheap compared to the east coast. He remembered showing pictures of different rooms to his mom, back before he moved in, and her oohing and awing the entire time.

It wasn’t so impressive to him, since this was the umpteenth time he had been at Ryan’s house, but he did feel a sweet wave of relief come over him once he passed through the foyer and went to Ryan’s – their – bedroom. Mostly because he could finally drop the several suitcases and heavy backpack he had carried onto the floor.

“I was gonna say we could try to unpack as much as we can tonight,” Ryan said, following behind Michael. He stopped to put a stack of boxes out in the hall. “But you look like you’re ready to collapse.”

“Yeah, I’m done. I think I just wanna lay on the couch for a while. Just let me straighten some stuff up.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ryan said. “I’ll meet you out there.” He retreated back to the living room.

Michael had no intention of unpacking anything tonight. They had finished dumping the rest of his stuff in Ryan’s house, he had dropped off the key in the landlord’s mailbox, and was officially _done._ All he wanted to do was spread out on Ryan’s couch, watch TV, and sleep in tomorrow. He already had some pajamas and toiletries at the house anyway, nothing he needed to take out tonight.

Except…

He grabbed his backpack and unzipped one of the compartments. With so many people coming in and out of his apartment and going through his stuff, it had been hard to keep some things a secret. His best plan had been to hide the box in the backpack he took to work. It was a slender enough package that it wouldn’t be at risk to fall out if he grabbed something from inside his bag during the day. And so far it had worked, all wrapped up like it had been for the last week or so. He took a breath and grabbed it, leaving the bedroom.

Ryan was already stretched out on the couch with a Diet Coke in his hand. The television was on, catching the tail end of some late night comedy show, the band of the night playing everyone out. Michael practically sank into the couch, thigh pressed against Ryan’s, and his cheek on the other’s shoulder. He yawned.

“You have work tomorrow?” he asked.

“No, no way. You couldn’t pay me enough to send me to work tomorrow,” Michael said. “You?” Ryan just shrugged.

“Figured I’d help you get settled in. Plus it’s still the weekend.”

“Like your work is confined to things like ‘weekends’.” Ryan shrugged, putting his drink down and wrapping his arm around Michael’s shoulder. He felt the dull scratch of his fingernails against the nape of his neck and relaxed further into the couch.

“I’m proud of you,” Ryan said, after a few minutes.

“Huh?” Michael said, refocusing his eyes from where they’d been tracking the TV screen, which had since shifted over to a late night news report, volume set too low to hear more than faint murmuring.

“When you said your, um, ex was at the door, my heart kind of dropped into my stomach.”

“Were you… worried?”

“Worried for _you._ I wouldn’t have wanted to be in your shoes. Talking with people you’ve broken up with is… hard.”

“Wow. What a refreshing take on that enigma.” Ryan playfully tugged on a lock of his hair.

“It _is_ , it’s a cliché for a reason. You – know someone so well for so long, and then you just, don’t talk anymore. Don’t know how to act around them. But it – I think it was better closure, right?”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, it was awkward, more than anything else.” He paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Guess that means that there wasn’t some secret spark between us or something.” None that survived the several months of no contact and him meeting Ryan and everything. “Which makes it, what, better, I guess? Like I’m doing the right thing, being here with you.”

“Were you having doubts?”

“No, remember? No comments, questions, concerns. I’m good.” With some effort he lifted his head off Ryan’s shoulder and turned his head, kissing him sweetly. “This is where I want to be.” He looked up at Ryan, just taking him in. It wasn’t the first or last time he had done that, either. He stroked his thumb idly against the stubble Ryan had on his jaw, catching his eyes. They were open, easy to read; why wouldn't they be? They never hid anything from each other. He could have stayed like that for a lot longer, and part of Michael would have been fine with that, spending the night curled up together on the couch, not even needing to talk if they didn't feel like it. But he forced himself to pull away, reaching for the wrapped box he had put on his other side. “I have something for you,” he said, brandishing the gift. Ryan stared at it a moment before gingerly taking it. He met Michael’s eyes with a smile that veered towards shy.

“Pretty sure I don’t need a housewarming gift if it’s _my_ house and you’re the one moving.”

“It’s not really a housewarming gift,” Michael offered. “Or – it’s kind of for both of us. For the mantle, or something. Just open it.” Michael brought his legs up on the couch, crossing them as he watched Ryan rip open the paper and turn the object around in his hands. His forefinger traced along the glass of the picture frame, his eyes darting to the pair of faces in the photograph.

“I – I was not expecting this,” he murmured, looking up at Michael.

“I – the um. The picture you gave me back at the lodge, it meant a lot to me. It still does. And the message you wrote on the back. It was – it was a really nice thing to do for someone you barely knew.” He swallowed. “So since we’re, you know, moving in together and we’re not basically strangers anymore I thought, um. It was my turn to give you something.” He gave Ryan a careful smile. “It’s not a good as your pictures since I did the Photoshop equivalent of throwing some Instagram filters on it. So we don’t uh, need to have it on the mantle, if you don’t want.”

“No, we should absolutely put it on the mantle.” He looked at the picture again. It was on the opening night of Ryan’s exhibit. Michael had been adamant about dragging Lindsay and Gavin there, letting them meet Ryan in between his interviews with a few local papers and talking with the other visitors, mostly large donors to the gallery and a bunch of Austin art people. It had also been the night he and Ryan announced that they were a thing, an official thing.

Obviously there was a shit load of Lindsay and Gavin rubbing it in and making fun of them both in various ways; Gavin at least had the foresight to make them take a nice picture together. They were both even wearing suits, because Ryan had to and, well, Michael figured dressing down would have looked bad. And as much as Michael was loathe to admit it, Gavin had an eye for the photogenic, and this picture was certainly that. Mostly because they were both so unabashedly happy; dual grins on their faces, pressed close together, one of Ryan’s photographs in the background.

He hadn’t posted the picture anywhere, though. He just sat on it before getting the idea to do, well. This. “I love it,” he said, getting up and putting it right where he said it belonged: the mantle over the fireplace, right below the television. He even moved it slightly to the right, making sure it was perfectly centered. As he leaned back to admire his handiwork, something dawned on him. 

“…Wait, did you – is there a note?” Ryan asked, already picking up the picture frame and carefully opening up the back.

Michael smiled, resting his chin in his hand as he watched. “Maybe,” he said, but Ryan’s eyes were already tracing the words he had penned down there weeks ago. He saw the skin around his eyes crinkle, his cheeks flushing slightly, and the adorable smile that worked his way onto his features. Very slowly, he looked over to where Michael was sitting.

“I love you,” he breathed out. Michael was sorely tempted to make a joke, but he rather be honest.

“I love you too,” he said, and it felt like he had never spoken truer words in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally did it. I finished something for once in my gotdamn life (seriously I think the last multi-chaptered fic I finished was like, in 2012. It took me over a year but this is still a victory in my book). Guys I'm so happy to bring you the last chapter! I don't even know how to thank all of you, for reading, leaving comments, and coming back even when it took me a literal year to pick this story back up again. I hope you like how it ended! I'm personally pretty satisfied. I hesitated over Michael's reunion with his ex because, well, that seemed like a difficult conversation. It's hard to write something that has the potential to be so volatile, but also healing, you know? 
> 
> Anyway - thank you all again. I feel a lot better now that I've finished a longer work, and I can't wait to get started on other fics for your enjoyment. :) Till next time!


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